


The Hobbit and the Thundercat: Stones and Omens

by RogueFanKC



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), Thundercats (2011)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Bilbo, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Coming of Age, Crossover, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Fluff, Lion-O is Bilbo's son, M/M, Slow Burn, Thorin Is an Idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-01-27 03:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 80,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueFanKC/pseuds/RogueFanKC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kíli, look! Mister Boggins has a house cat!"</p><p>"Not a housecat."</p><p>Lion-O Baggins is an oddity; how many residents of the Shire are a lion that walks and talk like a Man?  So when Gandalf offers Lion-O and Bilbo an adventure with a company of Dwarves to reclaim a lost kingdom, why not?</p><p>After all, adventures meant fun, heroism, and a chance for Lion-O to find his family and discover his past. Even though Mumm-Ra is now in Middle Earth, this will be a battle of good versus evil, like the fairy tales!</p><p>And all fairy tales have happy endings, right?</p><p>Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sins of the Father

**Author's Note:**

> With special thanks to the artist/write Bloubell for the fan-fiction cover (you can find her work on her Deviantart page). Also, you can follow my progress on this fiction piece on Tumblr if you like.
> 
> If you are unfamiliar with the 2011 _Thundercats_ TV series, you can Wiki it, although I highly suggest you watch the first two episodes of the 2011 series on iTunes (which are arguably the best and gives you an idea of the characters).
> 
> With that said, thank you for reading. I hope you all enjoy...

                “ ** _Drown it!_** ” hissed Claudus in seething rage, his eyes narrowed and shaking in anger.

                Jaga was actually stunned, his solemn and calm demeanor melting into horrified surprise. The elderly Thunderian Cleric had served the royal family for almost two centuries with unwavering loyalty and honesty. After all the experiences and wonders and knowledge he had ever witnessed over the years, Jaga thought that there was very little nowadays that could truly set him back.

                How wrong he was.

                The jaguar was grateful that his shock did not cause him to drop the wailing bundle he was cradling in his arms.

                “Your Majesty, you cannot mean that!” Jaga finally managed to protest.

                No, this was not how the Cleric would ever imagine how this happy occasion could spiral into the worst possible situation he could ever dare imagine in his wildest nightmares. King Claudus could never be capable of something such as this!

                “I do mean it! Take the baby out of the boundaries of the kingdom and kill it! Go past any village where not even the lizards would dare to tread and leave no trace that this cub ever existed!” exclaimed the lion violently as he abruptly turned around, almost as if unwilling to rest his eyes on the newborn a second longer.

                With a powerful growl of anger and grief, King Claudus managed to send the midwife and nurses scurrying as fast as they could out of the royal bedchambers. This left the King, Jaga, the newborn, and the young cub Tygra alone with the prone form of Queen Leona on the giant feather bed.

                Jaga couldn’t help but feel his breath stuck in his throat as he looked upon the body of the lioness with Tygra holding his mother’s limp hand against his own paws. Tygra was massaging her palm as if trying to bring the queen back to life by sheer force of will.

                Poor Tygra. Knowing his mother for only a short time only to lose her. And Queen Leona was not only beautiful, but soft-spoken, gentle, kind, and had a way to comfort and appease even the stormiest of tempers from her husband. Her death would be a great loss to all of the Thunderian cats in the city.

                Unfortunately, Queen Leona’s passing hit her husband the hardest.

                King Claudus looked at the still body of his wife, his head slightly drooping towards the floor in grief. He was doing his best to not cry, to be strong for Tygra who needed to see that he still had his father left in this world, that he was not alone, and that they would carry on the best they could, as Leona would have wished.

                Jaga tried again to reason with the King.

                “Your majesty, do not do this! Think of your Leona’s wishes! She risked everything to bring Lion-O into this world! She loved this babe because he was special to her! The Queen would not want you to turn away her newborn like this! Your wife had Lion-O because she wanted him to be born, to be a part of the family!”

                “My wife is dead! Do not dare tell me what she would have wanted! Leave, and allow both Tygra and myself to grieve!”

                “Leona would not want you to turn away your future heir, your son who can continue your heritage, your bloodline and legacy!”

                But that was exactly the wrong thing to say. Claudus let out a guttural roar of rage and agony from his wounded heart. It echoed so powerfully in the room that Tygra cowered and whimpered against the head of the Queen’s bed, and Jaga would not have been surprised if everyone within the palace could hear the cry of anger. Claudus whirled on his Head Cleric, his cape swirling violently against his broad shoulders and armor, and Jaga could see the spittle gleaming against his teeth, the King’s eyes like burning coals and wide with temporary madness.

                “That is enough!” bellowed King Claudus, “ ** _How dare you blaspheme?!_** It is Tygra that shall be my future heir, the only Crown Prince and a son I would gladly name as my flesh and blood! This…this babe robbed me of my life, my dear Leona, one of the few beings on this Earth who could ever complete me in body and soul! This child is an accident! I cannot bear seeing it a moment longer! Go! And do away with it!”

                “Your majesty, stop! Please!”

                But Claudus had enough.

                “ ** _Jaga…_** ” growled Claudus, his voice now low, dangerous, and penetrating, as if he was about to strike, and with that warning tone, the elderly jaguar knew that he had to cease and desist. He was wise enough to know when the King had been pushed past his boiling point.

                It was done; no words could help appease this situation. Not even the Ancient Spirits of Light could change the resolute decision of the King in his grief and blame.

                When the King spoke again, it was with cold ice pricks, dangerous and deadly.

                “You are my trusted advisor who has assisted and guarded the royal family for decades, even before my time and my father’s time, loyally and faithfully. You never held back your honesty and always spoke for the best of the Thunderian kingdom, even if the truth was painful to acknowledge. I would be proud to call you my friend. It is this, and only this reason, why I do not strike you down where you stand, for if you were any lesser Thunderian, you would be thrashed beyond belief.”

                King Claudus took another ragged breath, quivering, before he spoke again, sending dread and pain into new depths of Jaga’s soul.

                “Kill the babe and hide any evidence of it. Erase any and all trace of its existence. Do not give it to another family in this world to raise as their own. I need it gone, done away with, so it can never trouble me with its presence. It is a suitable punishment for how it took dear Leona away from my life and Tygra’s life, for how it unfairly lives while my dear wife does not. Do it. **_Please._** That is an order.”

                Jaga went pale.

                There was one second of a tense, sorrowful silence. The two seconds.

                With a slight bow and within a blink of an eye, Jaga disappeared, running as swiftly as the wind and invisible, invoking a small burst of air and dust in his magical wake.

                Shoulders drooping in fatigue and not sure if he had much strength to remain standing any longer, the King of Thundera half-shuffled to the bed as if drunk before sitting heavily on the feather mattress next to his deceased Leona. Dazed, befuddled, drained, and fatigued, the lion humanoid drew the tiger cub in his powerful arms and squeezed him close against his body, with the young prince feeling the sobs of pain quaking against his father’s chest.

                “I’m sorry, Tygra,” choked Claudus, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Your mother cannot be with us any longer.”

                Tygra, with his tear-stained face, just watched the very spot the Head Cleric disappeared with his brother. He did not say anything, but he buried his face into the comforting musk of Claudus’ beard.

* * *

                Mumm-Ra chuckled as he watched this from his shallow scrying pool, the murky waters glowing with the image of King Claudus and Tygra mourning over the Queen’s death. Satisfied that the King’s newborn would die before morning, he ended the spiritual divination, and the sallow-faced mummy hobbled away to the shadows, planning the next step in his goals with the statues of the Ancient Spirits of Evil looking down in stony appeasement.

                It had been far too easy…  


* * *

                He couldn’t do it.

                Ancients Spirits of Light help him, but he couldn’t follow King Claudus’ order.

                Jaga couldn’t help but let his eyes, baggy with wrinkles, shed a small tear as Lion-O let out a small sigh, snuggling against the silk enveloping him for warmth. The desert air at night was precariously freezing, but thankfully, they were at the edge of the Sand Sea, and there was no living being Jaga could sense within miles of his position on the cliff.

                It would be so easy now. The baby could not swim in the churning sand, and within seconds, Lion-O would be swallowed within the crushing medium of liquid rock and pebbles and suffocate a relatively quick death with no one the wiser. The King of Thundera would be satisfied in his revenge against the one who caused Leona’s death, and everyone would be allowed to continue their lives as if the child never existed.

                And yet…

                Jaga cradled Lion-O dearly against his slender, aged frame as his beard fluttered and tangled itself against the baby in his arms, shivering internally as he wearily sat down into a lotus position upon the rocky outcrop.

                Jaga needed to calm down, forcing himself to relax. He needed to think.

                Jaga could not possible leave the newborn with another family. Not only would it be a risk that Lion-O would possibly be abused or have a difficult life growing up in poverty or squalor, but everyone on Third Earth would recognize a baby lion.

                King Claudus was both an admired and infamous ruler who not only oversaw one of the richest and plentiful kingdoms on the planet, but he also had many emissaries and connections to the neighboring provinces of the Dogs, Birds, and other races. It was universal knowledge that the only lions were part of the Thunderian royal family, being descendants of Leo back in the Dark Ages with Mumm-Ra. The baby’s telltale red-hair, fur, and breed would be incriminating.

                No matter how distant and isolated Jaga could go to hide the babe, it would be impossible for Lion-O to go out into the open. No disguise could last forever.

                Sooner or later, when Lion-O grows up, his identity would eventually be surmised and discovered. Tongues would wag, rumors would spread far and wide, and Lion-O’s life would be in grave jeopardy, either by Claudus’ himself once he would discover his son was still alive or by one of the many enemies of Thundera such as the Lizards or the Rats, hoping to use Lion-O as a weapon or an easy kill.

                _Do not give it to another family in this world to raise as their own._

                Jaga smiled grimly. Let it never be said he didn’t follow that command to the exact letter.

                With a few whispered words, Jaga invoked a magical sphere of translucent light to surround himself and Lion-O, their bodies engulfed with soft, warm tones of yellow, peach, and white. With another flash, both Jaga and Lion-O entered the astral plane, a conduit and medium that traversed through all life on Third Earth and beyond, probing and meditating intently.

                Although time had no definition in the astral plane, Jaga felt as if he remained searching for hours and hours, his staff in one hand and the Thunderian child cradled in the nook of his other arm.

                And like branches of a tree, the astral plane had strands and paths that were interconnected to many worlds, many realities, many planet and realms of light and darkness in a harmonious and balanced beauty. Everywhere and everything, it had a connection to this ethereal conduit.

                Jaga observed any and all he could stumble upon.

                A planet called Alderaan with various races and a Council of warriors amid robots, technology, and battleships?

                No, it sounded far too violent for Jaga’s taste. He would not want Lion-O to grow up knowing only about war.

                A hidden, magical school called Hogwarts residing in a beautiful countryside and sea?

                No, Lion-O would stand out even more. There was simply no way he would not be ostracized among a planet of humans.

                A land of multicolored, talking ponies ruled by two benevolent alicorns that raised the sun and the moon?

                Jaga supposed that he _could_ resort to that one as a back-up plan…

                Eyes closed, Jaga sensed for someone to answer his prayers, to grant his request. He would not give up. There had to be a world somewhere that Lion-O could flourish in…

                “Pardon me, but do you know that you are carrying a wee babe in your arms?”

                Jaga couldn’t help but open an eye at the absurdity of someone pointing out something that blatantly obvious while being polite.

                And to his slight confusion, the being addressing him, though benevolent and without a hint of malice, had no clear and discernible form. The halos of sunlight and starlight radiating all around the stranger was a bit too blinding, but from what Jaga could tell, the figure was upright with two limbs and two legs like any Thunderian and carrying a tall, wooden staff of twisted wood.

                Jaga was wary but intrigued as he answered in an even tone, “Yes, I do. He is the reason why I am here.”

                “A good reason or a bad reason or a reason that is neither good nor bad but neutral?”

                Wonderful. The only being on the astral plane that was willing to greet him seemed to be daft and favoring riddles. Still, Jaga knew that appearances were deceiving, and though roundabout, the guest contained no aura of darkness, so the Thunderian Cleric decided to play along with some direct honesty.

                “Both a good and a bad reason, stranger,” Jaga replied, “The father of this child has ordered me to drown him in his grief for losing his wife in childbirth and has entrusted me to carry out the act.”

                The stranger was silent at this, perturbed. After several minutes of contemplation, the figure then asked Jaga a rather surprising change in the subject.

                “Is this child special?”

                “ ** _Every_** child is special. A child is a blessing, no matter how others feel about them.”

                “A good answer.”

                Jaga smiled at this compliment before he continued.

“This newborn must live; he deserves better than to be cast aside and abandoned. His mother would never have wanted such a fate, and I cannot bring myself to kill this young one.”

                “Only the truly vile can bring it in themselves to harm a child.”

                “And despite it being an order from my King, I will not carry it out. The child cannot remain in my world without the father or the kingdom’s enemies discovering about his existence. This is why I am here. I need a safe place for the baby to be raised, in a home of love and care, and where no Thunderian has ever resided before.”

                There was a pause before Jaga then asked his request.

                “Will you help me? Do you know of such a place?”

                There was no reply for several minutes, the silence growing thick with expectation and tension as the two mystics remained in the astral plane. Thankfully, Jaga was incredibly patient, so he remained politely attentive and kept his expression non-judgmental and friendly. Such a favor was not simple to ask of anyone, and no matter what, Jaga would respect the stranger’s decision.

                “Yes, I will help you. I can take the child. I will see to it that the young prince is raised in a home of warmth and comfort.”

                “Will he be safe?”

                “No. But he will not be alone.”

                “A good answer,” Jaga parroted, smiling. And it was honest as well. Perhaps this figure was not as daft and nonsensical as he first appeared to be. Letting out a pent-up breath of relief that he did not realize that he had been holding, Jaga carefully handed the bundled up lion babe to the guest after giving Lion-O a farewell kiss on the forehead. The shining presence carefully cradled the baby prince in its arms as if he were precious metals and jewels, cooing the newborn softly. The tiny Thunderian stirred, yet somehow, it managed to sigh happily before continuing to slumber.

                The stranger then asked the Head Cleric, “Jaga, does this baby have a name?”

                Jaga did not miss the fact that he never told the stranger his own name, but for some reason, he did not feel threatened and replied, “Yes. His mother’s last wish before she passed away. His name is Lion-O.”

                “Lion-O,” mused the stranger, “My, what a strange name. Yet then again, there are worse ones, and as far as names go, it is odd, but it is neither good nor bad, and that it all that matters really.”

                “And what is yours?”

                “I beg your pardon?” the figure asked as he was about to leave with the Thunderian baby in his arms.

                “What is your name? I wish to know the name of the kind and generous being who is willing to help a stranger in his time of need and who is good enough to help save a child’s life. What is your name?”

                The figure smiled as he said cryptically, “I have many names, all of which are strange yet apt. You may call me... Olórin.”

                And with a flash of sunlight, he disappeared from the astral plane with Lion-O, leaving Jaga with a heavy heart and his eyes weary with tears and sorrow.

* * *

                “Oh bother it all!” grumbled Bilbo as he heard the loud knocking at the door. Just when he was about to enjoy his breakfast, confound it! Still, it would not do for any respectable Hobbit to leave someone waiting indefinitely at the door, even if it was for fresh biscuits with scrambled eggs and sausages, fresh out of the pan a minute ago. Despite the need for pleasantries, Bilbo could not help but grumble and mutter under his breath as he tightened the sash around his bathrobe and irately stomped towards the door.

                The knocking got even more persistent, the rapping noises being more forceful.

                “Coming! Please, be patient! Honestly, this could not wait until after breakfast?!”

                Yavanna help him if this guest turned out to be another practical joke from the local Took children. He was quite sure that they were behind the poison ivy prank left on his gardening tools last week, and Bilbo was quite eager to take a lad or two by the ears and march him posthaste to his house.

                Upon reaching his front door, Bilbo hurriedly opened it and managed to demand in a civil tone, “Yes, may I help you?”

                Only silence and the cool morning air greeted the Hobbit gentleman in the open passageway. There was no one standing on his porch. Huffing angrily, Bilbo was just about the slam the door shut when…

                Bilbo Baggins blinked. Was that a baby wailing?

                “Goodness gracious!” Bilbo exclaimed upon seeing the wrapped bundle lying on his stone steps before he immediately bent down and gathered the newborn in his arms. He looked a bit past to the pathway of his garden and to the front gate, but not a soul could be spotted.

                Oh dear. Someone had abandoned a baby.

                And left it with him.

                Bilbo said the first thing he could in such an emergency.

                “Milk! Warm milk!” he cried to himself, in a tizzy, quickly slamming the door with his foot.

                Never mind that it was the middle of summer; the mornings were still a bit chilly, and the child could catch a cold. For heaven’s sake, how some Hobbits could be completely dimwitted and inconsiderate to not even think of such a thing for a poor babe was completely beyond Bilbo.

                And abandoning one in such a dreadful manner on top of it all!

                Once inside, with the bundle warming nicely on his armchair next to the burning fireplace and a saucepan of fresh milk set on the coals, Bilbo then noticed the card that was pinned to the fabric of the blanket. Curious, he plucked the paper and read aloud the only sentence written in ink.

                “‘My name is Lion-O’. My word! Such a strange name for a Hobbit…baby…”

                Bilbo’s voice then trailed off and died as he realized that he finally got a good view of the child left at his door, peering at him from the folds of silk. A furry face of beige, creamy brown, and little canines jutting out of a whiskered, cat-like mouth. A small puff of vibrantly red hair, as bright as the reddest rose. Grubby hands with fingers that had tiny pinpricks that represented claws. Though what was the most discerning were the baby’s blue eyes, azure and startling bright like deep pools of the clearest oceans and sky.

                The baby wailed again, clearly hungry and wondering why his mother has not fed him yet.

                Bilbo then voiced the only thing that could come to his frazzled mind.

                “Oh dear...”


	2. Adjustments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Screens and images are credited to theonering.net and thundercaps.tumblr.com

When Lion-O first arrived in the Shire on Bilbo’s doorstep, frazzled, Bilbo managed to get the Thain of the Shire and the Mayor along with the two senior Shirriff officers to meet him at Bag-End.

Of course, this happened _after_ Bilbo had fed the lion baby two warm saucepans of milk and after Bilbo enjoyed his first _and_ second breakfast. Let it never be said that Bilbo didn’t have firm priorities, and it was simply not suitable for the two of them to meet officials of the Shire on empty stomachs. Although Bilbo was pleased that Lion-O had a healthy appetite; Lion-O drank every last drop of milk Bilbo had on hand.

“That is no Hobbit,” was the first thing the Mayor of Michel Delving remarked in a stupefied manner upon seeing the furry Lion-O looking at the grown-ups intently.

“Oh, what a brilliant deduction,” drawled the Thain sarcastically.

After hearing the entire story from Bilbo, the Thain and the Mayor immediately ordered all the available Shirriffs to send messages and mail posthaste as speedily as they could informing all neighboring cities of a missing, cat-like baby and to inquire if perhaps he belonged to a family or was abducted from a neighboring kingdom (not that anyone was accusing Bilbo of such an atrocious act).

Until then, Bilbo was declared the temporary guardian and caretaker of Lion-O until his parents could be found. Despite some flustered and incoherent protesting from Bilbo, he eventually gave in.

After all, surely the baby wouldn’t stay in the Shire forever.

* * *

When Lion-O was one year old, the Thain paid a visit to Bag End and sadly informed Bilbo that the search for Lion-O’s parents and heritage yielded no results and was to be declared as hopeless. None of the neighboring kingdoms, provinces, and farms have ever witnessed or heard of such a child with lion-like features, there were no reports of any missing newborns, and even the Rangers of the North and South have been alerted of Lion-O, but their research and travels were fruitless.

If the experienced Watchers of Arnor and Rohan could not discover any trace or hint of where Lion-O had come from, then it was safe to say that there was nothing else any being in Middle Earth could do. The Thain then also suggested that he knew of several orphanages in the towns of Men where they could attempt to place Lion-O in.

Bilbo looked at the sleeping baby he was cradling in his arms before he came to a decision.

On that day, Lion-O was legally declared “Lion-O Baggins” of Bag End.

* * *

When Lion-O was two years old, he finally said his first word as Bilbo changed his diaper early that morning.

“Father,” Lion-O uttered, holding his paws up as an indication that he wanted to be picked up and hugged.

Despite holding a smelly, bare-naked Thunderian baby, Bilbo had truly never been happier in his life as he laughed and cackled like a madman, dancing and swinging Lion-O in his arms all around Bag End and for the first time since his parents’ deaths, Bilbo truly felt complete and whole to the point where he thought he would burst with glee.

* * *

When Lion-O was three, Bilbo learned the hard way that Lion-O was quite agile and energetic for a child, his natural claws a great asset for actually scaling up walls, furniture, and wooden beams. Combined with an inquisitive and adventurous spirit, many Hobbits eventually got accustomed to the various bits of yelling, screaming, and the clamor of objects breaking and crashing against the floor.

“Lion-O, come back here! You’re not done with your bath yet!”

_Boom!_

“Oh my goodness! Since when could you do that?!”

_Poom!_

“Lion-O Baggins, I’ve had enough of this! Come out from where you’re hiding! **_NOW!_** ”

_Bam, bam, bam!_

“Stop swinging on the chandelier this instant, young man!”

The sounds of something breaking against the floor caused a few of the eavesdroppers to wince; it sounded like something porcelain…

“Oh dear Yavanna! My mother’s best plates!”

_Crash!_

“Young man, this is not funny! I’m going to count to three! _One!_ **_Two!_** ”

_Rumble, rumble, rumble! Smash!_

“Lion-O, if I have to go get Hamfast’s ladder to get you down, I will! Do not make me come up there!”

_Wham!_

“Sit down now! Stop laughing!”

_Crack!_ The sudden sounds of a pipe bursting and an outpouring of water could easily be heard, and the water leaking out of the bottom of Bilbo’s front door was a very significant clue.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” screamed Bilbo loudly enough for the entire Shire to hear him.

Needless to say, Bilbo earned a few new gray hairs once he brought Lion-O into his life.

* * *

When Lion-O was four, Bilbo tried to celebrate Lion-O’s his birthday publicly for the first time by inviting all the Hobbit children in the Shire to attend along with their parents, promising good food and fun games and activities.

No one came.

Though Bilbo did his best to make it a grand time with his son, it was hard to pretend to be jovial and happy when there were empty seats, untouched plates, and a distant hollow feeling upon seeing the abandoned toys, the empty yard, and unclaimed wrapped presents made for the guests.

Lion-O cried that night for over an hour, his face buried in Bilbo’s chest as the Hobbit hugged and cradled him in his easy chair.

“It hurts,” sobbed Lion-O.

Though as painful as this was for Lion-O, it was absolutely gut-wrenching for Bilbo, being unable to help his son face the coldness of the outside world. All he could do was hold Lion-O against his body even tighter and promise that he would never let go.

* * *

When Lion-O was five, Bilbo got a glimpse of exactly how odd and extraordinary his son really was.

And how much it truly frightened him.

It was an extremely freezing night in the middle of winter, a clear sky with stars and a full moon, but the ground piled high with freshly fallen snow, enough to bury even the tallest Hobbit twice over. It was the perfect evening for Bilbo to sleep warmly in bed after an hour of reading by the fire with some jasmine tea and scones.

Or Bilbo would have if Lion-O had not started crying and screaming like he was being tortured.

Fear and absolute terror gripped his heart as Bilbo actually sprinted in a rather undignified manner towards Lion-O’s room and flung open the door. In his bed, Lion-O was in the throes of a terrible nightmare, thrashing and kicking off the covers over his body, moaning all the meanwhile. Bilbo hurriedly went over to his son and grasped him by the shoulders in a panic.

“Lion-O!” Bilbo yelled over his son’s yowls, “Lion-O! Wake up! Wake up, please!”

In Bilbo’s grasp, Lion-O then arched back, quivering and in a spasm before he gasped deeply and opened his eyes, his forehead and face beaded with sweat. Yet what shot a bolt of ice-cold alarm down Bilbo’s spine was the fact that he was staring directly at his son’s wide eyes.

And they were glowing, shining as brightly as two stars amid the shadows and dusk in the bedroom.

Bilbo couldn’t describe it. One moment, he was sitting with his son on Lion-O’s bed, and in the next moment, it was as if they were both plunging into an endless abyss, the sudden sensation of free-fall and being weightless being so terrifying, Bilbo actually could not scream or yelp in surprise. Bilbo then witnessed…

_A pack of twenty wolves, all of them larger than a grown Hobbit with various fur pelts of black and gray, snarling and ravenous from the cold winter…_

_The wolves were crossing the layers of ice and snow from the White Downs and crossing the now frozen river leading into Bywater, the town still bright and cheery with the light of the numerous homes and hearths…_

_The snarling curs were starting to wander into the cobblestone streets of Hobbiton where the residents were peacefully sleeping in their warm beds, unaware of the invading beasts…_

_Screams and loud shouts of surprise and panic rang in the air as several of the cottages and smials now had their doors caved in or wrenched ajar, the carnivorous quadrupeds joyful in the fruits of their hunting as they savagely attacked and feasted on the residents within, catching them completely by surprise…_

_The air was thick with the smell of blood, so intense that Bilbo and Lion-O could scarcely breathe…_

With a jerk, Bilbo was suddenly flung back into the present, immediately finding himself in the bedroom with Lion-O still tearfully looking up at his father with fear, whimpering. Bilbo did his best to not look at his son like he was Sauron himself, but by Yavanna, what had just occurred between the two of them? It felt so real, as if Bilbo was right there amid the wolf pack as they massacred the innocent civilians. After the feeling of wanting to vomit subsided and after several deep breaths, Bilbo at first considered it was perhaps a horrible hallucination and that both he and Lion-O should try forgetting what they had just seen.

Until he heard the wolves howl in the distance.

The rest of the events were really a blur. Bilbo did remember instantly tearing out of Bag End and running as fast as he could to pound on the smial doors of the Thain and the Mayor, summoning the entire Shirriff force out of their warm beds, and running as fast as they could to Hobbiton, armed with long wooden staves, pitchforks, torches, and clubs.

Bilbo remembered hoping that he was wrong, hoping that the visions he saw were just a byproduct of a lack of a sleep and letting his imagination run amuck. It was hard enough making up a slight lie to the Thain and Mayor that he had heard the wolves howl from Bywater, despite the distance between the town and Bag End, and Bilbo didn’t miss the dirty, skeptical looks on all of the Shirriffs faces. But to his grave shock and woe, he and the other Hobbits could see the wolves starting to cautiously enter the town square of Hobbiton, sniffing and ravenous for easy prey and meat as they overturned bins, baskets, and one particularly savage canine managed to tip aside a wagon of pottery. Thankfully, from what Bilbo could see, none of the homes have been broken into yet.

Although it would only be a matter of time.

Bilbo didn’t recall much after that, only the adrenaline-fueled haze combined with a shortness of breath and the fight-or-flight response as he helped the Mayor, Thain, and Shirriffs drive the wolves away before they could do any additional harm.

Although he did recall trying his best to drive away a rather gigantic wolf away with his torch, only for the wolf to furiously wrench the burning stick out of Bilbo’s hands with his teeth and toss it aside like it was nothing. Bilbo was now absolutely helpless as he backed away from the hungry beast, only to find himself trapped against the wall of one of the cottages with no way to escape as the wolf’s eyes gleamed at the thought of sinking its teeth into Bilbo’s flesh. The wolf was much faster and stronger, so there was no way Bilbo could run without being torn apart.

Bilbo remembered his final, anguished thoughts being about Lion-O as the wolf pounced…only to receive a rude surprise as a small, furry form actually tackled the carnivore by latching onto its head and sinking his claws over the enemy’s face, taking the wolf completely by surprise. In fact, the unexpected attack caused the wolf to veer slightly in its trajectory, missing Bilbo by inches. Bilbo then yelled in despair when he realized that it was Lion-O, bundled up in a jacket over his pajamas as he furiously kept biting and scratching and yelling, “Leave my father alone!”

Bilbo managed to dash off and pick up his fallen torch, the only weapon that could help save them both, but he looked up to see the wolf managing to buck Lion-O off its back, sending Lion-O to crash against the hard cobblestone ground, hitting his head hard upon the landing and leaving him dazed. The wolf licked its chops as it advanced nearer.

Bilbo leapt from nowhere and sent a good wallop across the canine’s face with his firebrand before instinctively putting himself between the wolf and the dizzy Lion-O. Now enraged beyond belief for its singed whiskers and nose, roaring, the wolf was ready to eviscerate his two little opponents.

“ENOUGH!” yelled a deep voice, authoritative and brimming with power, an essence that actually permeated all of Hobbiton.

A sudden outpouring of light then engulfed the entire battleground, blinding the wolves and actually setting several of their pelts aflame. Yelping and yapping in actual fright and panic, all the wolves scattered, fleeing as fast as they could. The one wolf Lion-O and Bilbo were trying to defend themselves against was howling the loudest in agony, the end of its tail burning like a lantern and leaving behind the odor of singed flesh.

The Thain and Mayor and the other Shirriffs were relieved to see Gandalf the Gray standing tall amid the falling snow, his hat and tattered robes fluttering in the wind and the tip of his wooden staff shining in tones of silver and white like a star. It was Gandalf who cast out the invading wolves.

“You got here just in time, Master Gandalf!” the Mayor exclaimed, grateful, as he eagerly shook Gandalf’s hand. Gandalf smiled.

“A wizard is never on time, Master Hobbit. He arrives precisely when he means to.”

Bilbo however was more concerned with his son as he hurried and knelt to Lion-O’s side amid the snow. Bilbo tried to rouse the lion-child from his dazed state, worried that Lion-O had a concussion. Yet Lion-O simply continued to moan in a terrified voice, his wide eyes glazed and dilated and still glowing (much to Bilbo’s horror).

“A figure in a red cloak…” Lion-O gasped, starting to cry as rivers poured down his cheeks, “Sharp teeth, big glowing eyes…all wrapped up…the bandages are coming to get me…a lizard in a helmet…a bird…an gorilla…a dog…all with red eyes…”

Gandalf was at Bilbo’s side before the Hobbit knew it, gathering up Lion-O in his arms and cradling him like a baby. With a smooth movement, Gandalf buried Lion-O’s face in the folds of his robe in order to not invoke any alarm from the audience now observing the two of them. Bilbo was actually stunned; usually, everyone steered clear of the both of them once they noticed how unnatural and alien Lion-O was to the Shire.

But it actually appeared Gandalf was concerned.

Gandalf then leaned over slightly and whispered to Bilbo out of the corner of his mouth.

“Meet me at Bag End.”

Without another word, Gandalf hurriedly walked down the cobblestone road as Bilbo haphazardly gave his weak excuses for leaving.

“My son is in shock from fighting the wolves. Can you and the other Shirriffs handle the situation here in Hobbiton while I take my son home? I need to tend to him. Please.”

Much to Bilbo’s relief, the Thain gave his consent while the Mayor ordered the Shirriffs to look around and see if any of the residents were hurt, to send word to the Rangers, and to start assigning patrols to ensure there were no stragglers were leftover in the village. Yet as Bilbo hurriedly ran after Gandalf, he still managed to hear some mutterings from some of the officials who were observing this with a beady eye.

“Mad Baggins, indeed…”

“Quite shameful he took in a freak.”

“I daresay I would not be surprised if it was Lion-O who enticed the wolves here.”

If Bilbo was not out of his mind with consternation over his son’s sudden plight, he would have gladly told off the other Hobbits for their rudeness.

It was odd how Gandalf only got a bit of a head-start, and yet he managed to get far, far ahead of Bilbo, despite the Hobbit running from Hobbiton to Bag End the entire way. Breathless, Bilbo managed to get back to Bag End ten minutes later, a painful stitch in his side, sweating, red-faced, and out of breath. There was no one in the living room on in the receiving room.

Where was Gandalf?

Yet his heart leapt in his throat when he heard the wailing and yowling of Lion-O. Rushing to Lion-O’s bedroom, Bilbo found Gandalf sitting on Lion-O’s bed, cradling Lion-O in his lap and using all his strength to keep the child still as the lion cub kept bucking, flailing, and crying out in a feverish trance, his blue eyes still glowing and his entire fur matted with sweat and yet his body as cold as ice.

“The figure in the red cloak, it’s looking at me!” screamed Lion-O, in a mad panic and thrashing in Gandalf’s arms in a desperate attempt to run, “It’s coming closer! **It’s coming to kill me!** Get it away! Get it away! _Help me, help me, **HELP ME!**_ ”

These last words got shriller and shriller with terror, high enough to make Bilbo’s ears ring, and Bilbo was so frazzled and at his wits’ end that he was ready to scream as well in commiseration and hopelessness until Gandalf barked an order to Bilbo.

“Bilbo, calm down your son,” the elderly man commanded as he placed a long, bony hand over Lion-O’s eyes, effectively blinding the child as he maintained his hold. Lion-O just kicked and struggled harder, shrieking and crying all the meanwhile. Bilbo just looked at Gandalf at a loss until the wizard clarified.

“I can help your son. I can put him to sleep so the nightmares will leave him, but I need him to be still in order to do so. Please, help calm down your son. He will listen to his father,” Gandalf strongly declared over the din.

Bilbo, white in the face, did the first thing that came to his mind on instinct.

Bilbo sang.

His voice was hoarse and creaky at first, numb with the fear of facing the wolves and the bitter winds, but as the words came, his voice became more in tune with the melody, more soothing and warm, his baritone voice mixing softly with the wailing from Lion-O, and yet, by some simple magic, felt richer and dominant. It was as if Bilbo had never forgotten the words that his own mother taught him when he was just a child himself on her knees, passing down the music to his own son as he gently yet firmly held Lion-O’s twitching paws in his warm, callused hands.

“ _The greatest adventure is what lies ahead. Today and tomorrow are yet to be said. The chances, the changes are all yours to make. The mold of your life is in your hands to break._ ”

Lion-O’s struggling was diminishing, making it easier for Gandalf and Bilbo to maintain their grips on the Thunderian as Gandalf immediately began muttering a long string of incomprehensible words under his breath, his lips moving without sound.

Bilbo continued singing, his heart thumping hard against his ribs.

“ _The greatest adventure is there if you're bold. Let go of the moment that life makes you hold. To measure the meaning can make you delay. It's time you stop thinking and wasting the day._ ”

The cries and screaming was now drifting off to slight groans and whimpers, Lion-O gasping deep breaths through his runny nose and mouth. The young one tried to shift his body to remove the hand covering his eyes and face, but Gandalf firmly kept Lion-O’s arms pinned at his sides as he chanted under his breath.

“ _The man who's a dreamer and never takes leave, who thinks of a world that is just make-believe. Will never know passion, will never know pain. Who sits by the window will one day see rain._ ”

“Father?” gasped Lion-O, almost as if he was waking up from a trance, and encouraged, Bilbo tenderly clasped one of Lion-O’s hands with both of his as a sign of comfort, rubbing Lion-O’s fingers and palm affectionately.

“Go to sleep, my son,” Bilbo intoned softly, nearly weeping with relief, as he continued his song.

“ _The greatest adventure is what lies ahead. Today and tomorrow are yet to be said. The chances, the changes are all yours to make. The mold of your life is in your hands to break._ ”

Gandalf felt Lion-O’s body relax, the tension leaving the child’s muscles, and Lion-O leaned more and more into the folds of Gandalf’s robe, letting out a soft sigh of fatigue.

“ _The greatest adventure is what lies ahead._ ”

Lion-O was now completely asleep, breathing calmly and normally, no longer twitching. Gandalf sighed as he removed his hand from Lion-O’s eyes, gently caressed Lion-O’s head and ruffled his damp hair affectionately before declaring to Bilbo, “It is done.”

Bilbo, feeling close to passing out of sheer exhaustion himself, nodded as he and Gandalf gently laid out Lion-O onto his bed and covered him under the blankets.

Before he left Lion-O’s bedroom, Gandalf leaned over and kissed the sleeping cub tenderly on the forehead.

Bilbo’s eyes widened comically, almost popping out, but the Hobbit managed to hold his tongue and heat up a fresh kettle of tea before the two of them settled in front of the fireplace.

Gandalf eased himself into the opposite chair across from Bilbo and heavily sat down, allowing the crackling fire to warm his chilled bones. Surprisingly, Bilbo didn’t say anything as he stared at the cup of tea in his hands, his face a myriad of emotions and questions, but none of them managed to come out of his mouth. The silence was incredibly awkward as it trickled to several minutes, but Bilbo wasn’t even sure what he could say that would not make him sound crazy or that would not make Lion-O seem bewitched.

As friendly and welcome Gandalf’s assistance was, he was still basically a stranger.

Gandalf decided to speak first while taking out his pipe and lighting it.

“Lion-O is a special child, Bilbo.”

Bilbo just looked at Gandalf, his eyes blurry with frustration and fatigue. He had no idea why, but just seeing Gandalf sitting there, serene, nonjudgmental, and most importantly, open and accepting of Lion-O (when many of the other Hobbits would show fear, suspicion, and outright hostility) was just too much for Bilbo to bear.

It came pouring out. For over an hour, Bilbo described what had happened, how Lion-O woke up screaming, how his eyes glowed, how he and Bilbo saw the visions of the wolves, and how they managed to use the vision to warn the Thain in time to help counter against the invading pack. By the end of his tale, Bilbo couldn’t help but sniff and wipe his eyes.

Bilbo loved Lion-O dearly, and nothing would ever change that. But Bilbo wished that raising a child just wasn’t so damn frustrating. Gandalf however nodded his head in understanding.

“Lion-O has an ability called ‘sight beyond sight’,” the gray wizard explained in a quiet yet deep tone of voice that cut through the fog in Bilbo’s head, “When triggered, he can see visions of the past, present, and future. He can see far-away places without leaving his little room here in the Shire, he can overhear people’s conversations without actually being within their presence, and most dangerously, he can discover hidden secrets, relive past events and traumas as if he were witnessing them in person, and foresee events that may or may not happen in the future. You will be able to tell if he is using his power by the way his eyes glow. From what you have described to me, if a person is touching Lion-O while he has his visions, he can apparently bring people into his sight beyond sight as well. That is why you were able to also view the images of the wolves alongside your son.”

Bilbo pondered over this explanation for several minutes before he asked, “Is this sight beyond sight dangerous?”

“In the wrong hands, it is.”

That did not make Bilbo feel any better. **_At all._**

“Allow me to be more specific, Gandalf. Is this sight beyond sight dangerous for Lion-O?”

“No, I do not think so. He was blessed with that power specifically because Lion-O was meant to have it.”

“How do you know?”

Gandalf smiled at the suspicious tone in Bilbo’s voice before he sidetracked with, “Things never happen without a reason.”

Bilbo looked like he didn’t believe that one iota, but he politely just downed his tea without remark.

Gandalf then asked, “Bilbo, are you now fearful of your son?”

Bilbo looked up, stunned and shocked at the audacity of such a question, until he noticed that Gandalf was serenely looking at him in an odd manner.

The Hobbit then remembered all the times Lion-O ate his cooking like he was the greatest chef in all of Middle Earth and helped with the chores, filled the rooms with his laughter, hugged and cuddled against Bilbo in devoted affection, how much more rewarding his empty little life in Bag End became once the lion-child entered his home. Bilbo could almost picture his son’s blue eyes staring into his own and how he could never see any hate, malice, or wrongdoing from his strange, little alien.

“Never. But I am fearful of what his sight beyond sight will do to him.”

“A good answer,” Gandalf said as he blew a plume of smoke which surprisingly took into the shape of a cat, graceful and sleek, and the smoky apparition started prancing daintily in the air before vanishing. Though he had no idea why, the way Gandalf seem so satisfied made Bilbo wonder if the man had been testing him.

It wasn’t until Bilbo refilled both of their tea cups before Gandalf spoke with carefully chosen words for the delicate situation.

“I placed a minor spell on Lion-O’s mind to prevent the sight beyond sight from driving him mad. He deserves to enjoy what little years as a child he has left, and Lion-O will no longer have any visions such as tonight for a while until he is old enough to control and understand them.”

Bilbo blinked. This was getting stranger and stranger. The Hobbit asked, “A…spell? Since when can you do that? You are simply a peddler of fireworks.”

Gandalf replied as he blew a puff of smoke that turned into a butterfly, “I know a few additional tricks.”

“Then can’t you take away the visions from Lion-O? So that he can never be troubled by them again? Or perhaps use the spell to completely suppress the sight beyond sight forever in Lion-O? Please Gandalf, help my son!”

Gandalf finally frowned at Bilbo, and though he was not a little Shireling anymore, Bilbo instantly felt ashamed for asking such a question.

“No, I cannot do what you request, Bilbo. Create fireworks, make illusions, cure a sniffling cold, or mend a cut, perhaps. But to take away a gift blessed by forces that I know better than to trifle and meddle against? I am not a powerful wizard. Just a wandering one.”

There was silence before Bilbo asked hesitantly, “How long shall the spell last then?”

“I would say around ten to twelve years. Until then, I wish to see it that Lion-O enjoys his days being a child and a beloved son, with laughter, cake, play, and adventures. Like your mother, Belladonna.”

Bilbo looked up, confused, as Gandalf’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

“I am asking for permission to visit Bag End from time to time. To see how the two of you are faring…and perhaps for a good dinner and a glass of red wine.”

Bilbo just had one, remaining, nagging question.

“Gandalf, why are _you_ not fearful about Lion-O?”

Gandalf’s eyes twinkled in the firelight as he replied, “Why should I be fearful of a boy who, like his father, has a courageous heart?”

Afterwards, Gandalf was named as Lion-O’s godfather. And ever since then, there was a constant third guest to Lion-O’s birthdays, complete with Lion-O’s own private fireworks show that Gandalf made specially just for him.

  
Art done by [Jess Deaton](http://jess-deaton11392.tumblr.com/)

* * *

When Lion-O was six, he was quite proficient in reading and writing, and Bilbo was pleased at how well he took his lessons to heart. However, he eventually discovered that out of all the subjects that he lectured over with Lion-O’s tutoring, the lion-child absolutely adored fairy tales.

And thus, reading aloud to his son by the fireplace, with Lion-O sitting on his lap, became a nightly tradition for the two of them. And even though he was a Hobbit gentleman, Bilbo was surprised how the stories reminded him of his own yearnings and thirst for adventure, for a glimpse of worlds and lands outside the Shire exactly like Lion-O.

Apparently, his Tookish streak never left him.

Together, Bilbo and Lion-O sailed on vast oceans, observing giant fish and serpents crashing and splashing against the waves in the moonlight. Bilbo and Lion-O explored vast caves of sparkling quartz, diamonds, and precious crystals that made the underground caverns shine brighter than the rainbows. Bilbo and Lion-O traversed through thick jungles and met with the King and Queen of the Fey and danced with the unicorn guardians. Bilbo and Lion-O climbed the tallest mountains to observe the beautiful sunrises above the clouds and saw the phoenixes and the dragons dance in the air during the Great Migration.

And Bilbo and Lion-O did all this while never leaving their cozy living room in Bag End in the humble town of the Shire.

* * *

When Lion-O was seven, he finally realized the one fact about himself that Bilbo had been dreading for some time. Of course, this came one day when Lion-O arrived home in the early afternoon, crying furiously and helplessly after a vicious round of teasing from some of the Hobbit children, led by that despicable Lotho Sackville-Baggins.

“Father, why am I different?! Why couldn’t I be normal?! Why couldn’t I be a Hobbit?!” Lion-O whined, burying his face in Bilbo’s lap as he knelt in front of his father. Bilbo, sitting on the kitchen chair, just stroked his son’s head and hair comfortingly as his son continued to sob out his anger and hurt.

Bilbo said nothing.

Bilbo wished he had the perfect answer to make it all go away.

But he didn’t.

That night, Bilbo made Lion-O’s favorite dinner (seafood chowder, pan fried trout with rosemary roasted potatoes, and maple peach cake with honey buttercream for dessert). It erased the tears, but Bilbo could tell that it was only the beginning of the endless questions Lion-O would develop about himself and his unknown race.

* * *

When Lion-O was eight, he taught himself to swim in nearby ponds, and then later, in the Brandywine River near the Shire, which raised eyebrows from all the neighboring Hobbits witnessing this. It also caused Bilbo to produce an honest-to-goodness fit of screaming and worrying before he fainted dead away on the riverbank.

* * *

When Lion-O was nine, he was already taller than Bilbo by a good head, going through a rather radical growth spurt in a matter of months.

This made things a little different.

“I guess I cannot sit on your lap anymore,” Lion-O said, embarrassed, although a bit saddened.

Bilbo easily fixed that by making a new tradition of reading to Lion-O from his easy chair by the fireplace while Lion-O sat attentively on the rug, hanging on every word with a mug of hot chocolate with clotted cream and nutmeg sprinkled on top.

And they continued that tradition well into Lion-O’s teenage years.

* * *

When Lion-O was ten, Esmeralda and Eglantine Took both wandered into the Old Forest east of the Shire late one autumn morning, eager to find mushrooms and nuts to bring back home as snacks.

By nightfall, the Thain and Mayor of the Shire were running search parties in a panic, but none of the Hobbit men could find any trace of the two missing children after hours of searching. And with the threats of the various dangers from Withywindle Valley and the cold winds dropping the night temperatures close to freezing, it was starting to look bleak.

So imagine everyone’s surprise and joy when Bilbo and Lion-O emerged from the forests with Esmeralda and Eglantine in hand, the girls dirty and shaken, but very much alive and uninjured. The two girls had accidentally got themselves stuck in a deep ravine that they could not climb out while they had been exploring. After many minutes of joyful sobbing and cheers, the Head Shirriff asked Bilbo how he found the Took children when it was pitch black in the woods.

Bilbo smiled and pointed at Lion-O.

Lion-O simply answered, “I can see in the dark.”

Esmeralda and Eglantine hugged and kissed Lion-O for his role in their rescue while the Thain and the Mayor declared Lion-O a hero, invoking cheers.

Afterwards, the reception of Lion-O by many of the adults was considerably warmer. And of course, Lion-O then had no problems being able to play with the other Shirelings and having them attend his birthday after that. Granted, there were still some lingering suspicions and mutterings, but Bilbo and Lion-O couldn’t have cared less.

Gandalf was happy to have more Hobbit children enjoy his fireworks.

* * *

When Lion-O was eleven, he actually started to tinker and build.

Bilbo wasn’t exactly sure, but he was willing to bet money that this mania started because Gandalf gave into Lion-O’s curiosity and showed him the inner workings of his magnificent fireworks. And of course, it didn’t help that Lion-O was given an old set of tools by Bodo Proudfoot which only added fuel to Lion-O’s insatiable urge.

Frustrated at how large and cumbersome Gandalf’s fireworks were to someone of his size, Lion-O tried creating his own miniature ones by filling small, clay capsules with the same powder he found when he took apart one of Gandalf’s Goblin Barkers. The first test run caused a massive explosion and firestorm that burned down Gorbadoc Brandybuck’s hay cart when Lion-O accidentally shattered one pellet on the cobblestones.

Bilbo sent Lion-O to the Marish to harvest Gorbadoc’s hay fields for one month as punishment.

Lion-O then created and built a strange grapple-line that one could wear on his wrist and shoot out a tiny metal spike attached to a rope to embed into the nearest tree branch or wooden rafter. Mimosa Bunce screamed loudly enough to wake the dead when Lion-O’s accidental misfire shattered her kitchen window and nearly impaled her while she was cooking elevenses.

Bilbo sent Lion-O to clean up the shattered glass, repair the window, and then wax Mimosa’s smial floors as punishment.

Lion-O was so proud when he managed to build a small wagon cart, big enough to fit him inside and complete with a comfortable cushioned seat, a front and back axle, two levers for steering, and circular wooden wheels lined with dried clay. Lion-O then got the brilliant idea to add some speed to his wagon if he tried attaching and lighting Gandalf’s backarapper fireworks at the rear. Rudibert Bolger didn’t think it was brilliant when Lion-O’s joyride crashed into his vegetable stand. Though Lion-O was thankfully uninjured, the same couldn’t be said for Rudibert’s wares.

Bilbo sent Lion-O to clean up and rebuild Rudibert’s wooden stand, and then Lion-O was to fertilize Rudibert’s entire vegetable farm (which happened to be several acres large) as punishment.

Then came the time Lion-O wondered how a catapult could work and if whether or not he could really build one based off the descriptions found in Bilbo’s stories and books. Unfortunately, the day Lion-O completed his secret project also happened to be the day that the Thain was hosting a grand dinner at his house with all the Shire officials…

Let’s just leave it that Lion-O needed to do quite a few chores and errands around the Shire throughout his teenage years.

* * *

When Lion-O was twelve, he came back home extremely late one May night, talking all afternoon with one of the visiting Rangers of Ithilien and being enraptured by tales of Minas Tirith and the kingdom of Gondor over at the Green Dragon Inn. Running all the way, the adolescent just hoped that Bilbo wasn’t too put off that he has missed luncheon, tea time, and dinner. But it was so wonderful to hear about the exciting things outside the Shire!

“Father, I’m home!” Lion-O called out as he flung open the door in breathless energy, slamming his way noisily into Bag End like a typical child. Yet Lion-O’s exuberance instantly dwindled as Lion-O abruptly stopped to a halt at the sight of Bilbo sitting quietly at the kitchen table, with a pot of tea nearby.

What was instantly alarming was the stormy expression on Bilbo’s face as he slowly turned towards his son standing in the doorway. Lion-O was instantly apprehensive; his father was kind, jolly, and quite easy-going, but it took an incredible amount to incur his anger.

“Do you recall what I reminded you this morning?” Bilbo said in a low, dangerous voice, his face surprisingly rigid and displeased.

Lion-O then remembered.

Today was the annual Spring Flower Festival. And Bilbo needed Lion-O’s help with bringing and setting up the prized hyacinths and magnolia saplings Bilbo has so tenderly cared for and nurtured for his entry in the contest. It was too much for Bilbo to perform by himself, seeing that several of the clay pots were as big as Bilbo and quite heavy. Hence, Lion-O promised his father that he would assist with much of the manual labor so that his father would be able to display his hard work for the judges. And before he left for the Green Tavern, Bilbo made an effort to stress to Lion-O the importance of the festival.

Lion-O felt ashamed, his excuse catching in his throat. He did not mean to forget, but like all children, when the exciting stories from the Ranger came about, Bilbo’s need got pushed aside and temporarily placed in the back-burner.

It was probably safe to say that Bilbo was unable to turn his flowers in time for the contest.

Upon seeing the stricken look on his son’s face, Bilbo stiffly rose from his chair, appearing so disappointed that he couldn’t tolerate looking at Lion-O a minute longer.

Bilbo’s voice was resentful and tight as he declared, “Your dinner has been warming in the oven for the past two hours. Wash the dishes when you are done.”

Bilbo left for his bed, brushing past Lion-O without even looking at him.

Lion-O began, “Father, I’m sorry. I - ”

Bilbo didn’t want to hear it as he turned furiously to his son and yelled, losing his temper, “ **A promise you must give is a promise you must keep!** ”

With that, Bilbo stomped to his bedroom and slammed the door, locking it with a final click. Leaving Lion-O to feel like absolute dirt, too upset and guilty to even eat.

From that day on, Lion-O never broke a promise to his father again.

* * *

When Lion-O was thirteen, he got into his first fight.

Bilbo wasn’t entirely surprised when he found out that it was against Lotho and his gang.

“Lion-O, I raised you better than this,” Bilbo sighed tiredly, his voice failing to hide his disappointment as he finished tying a bandage over his son’s scraped knee. Lion-O was still stubbornly mulish as he held the raw slab of beef over his swelling right eye.

“He deserved it. Ow! That stings!” yowled Lion-O as Bilbo cleaned the bleeding gash on Lion-O’s forearm with soap and hot water, wiping it raw with a clean cloth. Upon seeing that the blood on Lion-O’s claws were not his, Bilbo had a sinking feeling that Lotho’s injuries were probably far worse.

“Lion-O, verbal to verbal. Physical to physical,” Bilbo lectured as he unrolled another bandage.

“You didn’t hear it! And I couldn’t just ignore it! Lotho called you ‘Mad Baggins’ and said that the reason you took me in was because I was just as much of a freak as you. He was asking for that beating!”

Bilbo gently placed his hand underneath Lion-O’s chin and forced Lion-O’s blue eyes to meet his hazel ones, making sure he could get his point across before he said, “Lion-O, names and titles mean little to me. And the same should go for you as well. If I am to be a ‘Mad Baggins’ because I adopted you, then I shall wear that moniker with pride and joy like any good father.”

Lion-O finally felt ashamed as he glared down at the floorboards, remaining silent as Bilbo finished tending to his bruises and cuts. Satisfied, Bilbo took the medical supplies and the basin of water with him before he cast a stern glance at Lion-O over his shoulder.

“Oh, and Lion-O? You are grounded for two days, confined to your room except for meals and no dessert. And afterwards, I shall take you to the Sackville-Baggins where you will personally apologize to Lotho as well as Lobelia and Otho. Is that clear?”

Lion-O scowled, but the hanging of his head and the lack of protest was self-explanatory.

* * *

When Lion-O was fourteen, he finally asked Bilbo how he came to be.

It wasn’t easy for Lion-O to bring up, but at this point, he felt that living with the ignorance was even worse.

Over tea, Bilbo and Lion-O sat down at the kitchen table while Bilbo explained everything he could: the day Lion-O was left at Bilbo’s doorstep as a newborn with only a note, how the Thain sent word to all the neighboring cities and Rangers, all the hours Bilbo researched texts from the Men and the Elves for any clue of lion and cat races, and how after one year, they finally just gave up hope.

Lion-O was silent as he listened, looking down at his tea.

It was clear from the crestfallen, pensive look on his face that he wasn’t satisfied with the answer.

“So you don’t even know what I am?”

Bilbo was silent for a minute, not sure what he could say, until he suddenly had a brilliant inspiration.

“I know exactly what you are.”

Lion-O looked up at his father, blinking. Bilbo smiled.

“You are the Prince of Many Questions. You are one of the Fish of the Brandywine, though no wine shall be served with you. You bounce among the trees, but you live in the ground. You come from a place beyond the sea, though you go home under a hill. You are a Hobbit in Heart, though your Heart is of a Lion’s. You are one who sees without knowing, and one who knows without seeing.”

With that, throughout the entire night, even while cooking and eating a wonderful dinner and even when all the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, Bilbo continued to use his silver tongue and vivid imagination to spin his tale.

He told Lion-O as one of the animal cubs blessed by Yavanna to help unite the warring animal races into a time of peace and prosperity. He told Lion-O as the long-lost son of a noble Bandit King leading forty thieves who sent his son away to safety away from a tyrant emperor by flying him on a magical ship that could soar above the desert sand and clouds, and how the Bandit King was aching for the day he could reunite with his son and love him. He told Lion-O as a reborn gladiator who would fight armies of evil spirits and Orcs and fell one hundred foes with a single swing of his sword. He told Lion-O as the only son from a wizard and sorceress who were also blessed with seven daughters, and how they transformed each of the daughters into rabbits, birds, dogs, bears, and other animals to watch over Lion-O as faithful guardians until he came of age to learn his destiny.

At the end of the stories, Lion-O finally smiled, laughter dancing in his eyes.

Bilbo hugged his son in return; his throat may have been parched and dry from talking so long, but it was worth it.

* * *

When Lion-O was fifteen, quite a few Hobbits with nothing better to do than spread malicious gossip (aka Lobelia Sackville-Baggins) commented that Bilbo Baggins spoiled Lion-O which explained why the lion-child was so wild and unable to be “respectable”.

It was also around this time that Lion-O was considered to be as tall as the Men-folk, and Bilbo had to request a special order from the Shire carpenters to build a bigger bed for his son. It cost a bit of coin, but it was completely worth it to have Lion-O wake up without cramped legs and needing to sleep in a tucked-in position.

This actually caused _more_ tongues to wag in agreement to the gossiping.

Lion-O was ecstatic and couldn’t thank Bilbo enough. Still, as he lay on the feather mattress, enjoying the feeling of empty space surrounding him and the down quilt on top his body, Lion-O felt something was missing.

When Bilbo stopped by his door to say goodnight, Lion-O then asked for a small request.

“Father,” Lion-O said tentatively, “…can we cuddle?”

Bilbo smiled as he climbed on the pallet, and despite Lion-O being much bigger than the Hobbit, Bilbo wrapped his hands around Lion-O while Lion-O snuggled his head against Bilbo’s chest, enjoying the closeness only a father and son could experience. It was strange how they both never got too old for this. Bilbo had to admit that seeing Lion-O’s tail curl and wag in a relaxed manner and having his son purr contentedly while Bilbo’s ran his fingers through his son’s mane and scratched his ears was a therapeutic pleasure.

And of course, this also involved a slight tickle war where Bilbo would surprisingly get one over the taller Lion-O by scratching his stomach, causing Lion-O to curdle in a fetal position from the belly rubs, laughing so hard that he would choke.

Bilbo spoiling Lion-O?

Well, if you meant with love, hugs, cuddles, and tickling, then Lobelia wasn’t wrong.

* * *

When Lion-O was sixteen, he managed to get a job at the Green Dragon Inn, serving drinks of ale and food, cleaning tables, collecting dirty dishes, and helping with the maintenance. The wage was decent and fair, and Lion-O decided that it was time to start contributing to his keep. Though Bilbo argued that Lion-O did not need to worry about money since the Baggins family was quite well off and that he had enough money to ensure that the two of them could live comfortably for some time, in the end, he relented and allowed his son to have the job.

Although Bilbo put his foot down when Lion-O tried to give his father all his earnings, insisting heatedly that Lion-O keep the money for himself.

After a few months, the tavern keep, Barmy Rootknot, informed Bilbo that he was pleased on how dutiful a worker Lion-O was. And Lion-O enjoyed how Rangers would occasionally visit the Inn during their travels and were nice enough to regale Lion-O with tales on the world outside the Shire.

* * *

When Lion-O was seventeen, he could climb the highest tree in the Shire from the ground up to the topmost branches within ten seconds. And at the Green Tavern Inn (which was a three-story building), Lion-O could bounce up the walls and awnings to reach the top of the thatched roof as easily as one could blink, brushing off twigs, dead pine needles, and dust with a broom.

Bilbo did his best to not have a fit of hysteria and clamped down on his fears that Lion-O would fall off and break an appendage or worse.

Conversely, the Hobbit children appreciated Lion-O’s skills immensely. After all, who else could pluck ripe apples, hickory nuts, and extract their abandoned kites out of the trees for them?

* * *

When Lion-O Baggins was eighteen, he then ran into the oddest group of Dwarves that were being led by Gandalf right to his father’s porch.

And that is when Lion-O’s life truly changed…


	3. From Third Earth to Middle Earth

“You have summoned me, my Lords?” Mumm-Ra asked in his disembodied voice, kneeling before the giant behemoth statues in his cavernous chambers.  The entire room was dark, devoid of any furniture except for the towering, giant sculptures, and cast in black shadows, save the light from the glow of the scrying pool.

As soon as the crimson-robed corpse knelt down to the metal floor, the room instantly was covered in tinges of unholy red as the mammoth faces of the four statues looming over Mumm-Ra began to emit an terrifying luminesce from their soulless eyes.  Even though they were motionless busts of stone and metal, the deep voices of the Ancient Spirits of Evil resonated from within and above and all throughout the Black Pyramid.

“ ** _We have observed your acquisition with the latest Power Stone, and we are all pleased_** ,” the statue of the Lizard intoned, its face frozen in a permanent snarl.

Mumm-Ra basked in the praise and congratulations as he then simpered, “Thank you, my Lords.  Shall I now command my armies to crush King Claudus and wipe out the Thunderian race once and for all?”

“ ** _No_** ,” said the effigy of the Vulture.

Mumm-Ra, still kneeling in his prostrate position, blinked, his eyes going wide in surprise.

He **_must_** have misheard that.

“My Lords?” Mumm-Ra asked dumbly, stunned.

The obelisk figure of the Jackal boomed, “ ** _Ignore King Claudus for now.  There are more pertinent matters on hand for you.  Do you recall his newborn son many years ago?  The lion cub born to the Queen Leona of Thundera eighteen years past whose death you orchestrated?_** ”

“Yes?” Mumm-Ra asked, having a distinct feeling he was not going to enjoy where this questioning was headed.

“ ** _Lion-O still lives.  He resides in another world, a different realm from Third Earth.  Jaga had apparently spirited the Prince away in hiding, far from our detection_** ,” intoned the behemoth of the Ape, its sword gleaming under the disapproving light of its red eyes as it sneered down on the servant warlock.

Mumm-Ra’s eyes went wide with terror as he stiffened.  Despite this revelation, the living mummy would have _never_ guessed this outcome.  Especially since he observed the kingdom of Thundera and its neighbors studiously, making sure that he could not even sense the lion cub’s life-force anywhere in the planet for the past eighteen years.  He thought for sure that Lion-O had been done away with for good.  And after a long and fruitful decade of waging war against all the animals in Third Earth, saving the damned cat race for the final slaughter and conquest without anything to stop him was literally going to be the pinnacle of Mumm-Ra’s victory.

Mumm-Ra actually was so magnanimously confident that nothing would have stopped him at this point.

It wouldn’t be hard to guess that the Ancient Spirits of Evil were very, _very_ displeased.

As if sensing his trepidation, the statue of the Ape declared strongly, “ ** _There is no need for fear for now, Mumm-Ra.  We have conceded that this turn of events was not due to negligence or incompetence on your part.  This one setback does not overshadow your years of triumphs against King Claudus and the Thunderians._** ”

Mumm-Ra silently exhaled in hidden relief as he actually kneeled lower and touched his forehead to the ground in thanks, submitting himself before the four obsidian behemoths.

He managed to escape condemnation for once.

“I thank you for your merciful judgments, Ancient Spirits of Evil.  Where is Lion-O now?”

Instantly, the scrying pool in Mumm-Ra’s chambers began the glow and swirl in a multitude of colors as the statues’ eyes began to burn with hellfire and crimson light.  The bandaged-wrapped corpse hobbled his way over slowly to the reflective surface and observed within to see a plethora of translucent images reflected in the water.

Mumm-Ra remained silent, but his soulless eyes widened slightly with interest as he took in the sights of the marvels of this new world.  Beautiful snow-capped mountains, black as iron and granite, yet reaching skywards towards a sky so blue, one could scarcely believe it.  Grasslands and fields bursting with various plants and flowers, turning in hues of gold and red under a rich setting sun, the twilight dusk starting to reveal unfamiliar star constellations.  Enormous trees and forests fed by pure rivers and ponds, all crystal clear and pure, feeding into a calm ocean under a full moon.  Villages and town made of brick, stone, with straw-thatched roofs with its civilians riding horses and carts and farming crops and livestock.  Soldiers and warlords training with swords, bows and arrows, and lances among stone monuments of statues and past kings within citadels and castles of a medieval and Renaissance quality.

Yet even just from the scrying pool, Mumm-Ra could sense it.  Folds and webs of spells, ancient magic, and natural life-force and mystical souls intertwined deeply in every tree, rock, and droplet of water, encompassing it in a firm embrace and barrier of protection.  The fabric of this reality was so thick with mystical energy that the mummy could actually feel pressure lightly teasing the edges of his threadbare cloak.

Impressive.  If only the mere _images_ of this world could exhibit this much of a magical and ethereal residue…

A planet that was truly a unique marvel in many ways.

Beautiful.  Pristine.  Paradise.  Teeming with life and without a hint of industrialization.

And in Mumm-Ra’s eyes: obsolete, backwards, primitive, and nothing truly useful, not even worth the effort of conquering.

The bust of the Vulture intoned, “ ** _Lion-O lives in a world called ‘_ Middle Earth _’, a planet teeming in resources and a multitude of races blessed by numerous gods whose powers actually dwarf our own.  Here, Lion-O has grown into a young adult amongst a gentle race called the Hobbits, but he also lives amongst beings of Dwarves, Elves, Orcs, Goblins, and even the race of Men._** ”

Mumm-Ra’s eyes narrowed.  He was **_very_** familiar with the human race…

“I swear to you, my Lords, I will destroy this entire world and completely obliterate it.  We can activate the Black Pyramid to invade within the day and completely eliminate the entire planet from space in the effort to kill Lion-O once and for all.  I will not let that furry whelp live.”

“ ** _You will_ not _destroy Middle Earth,_** ” interrupted the Lizard coldly.

Mumm-Ra’s head snapped up in surprise and horrified anger.

He looked as if the Ancient Spirits of Evil told the bandaged-wrapped mummy that Lion-O was taking his place as their most favored disciple.  In a strange and demented way, it was a bit humorous to see Mumm-Ra’s eyes become as round and wide and saucers and his jaw going slack, giving him a completely stupefied and silly appearance.

“BUT…BUT WHY?!” Mumm-Ra shrieked, his voice now an octave higher.

“ ** _This is our desire.  You will not destroy Middle Earth, but help_ conquer _it,_** ” commanded the Jackal behemoth.

This wasn’t making any sense to Mumm-Ra at all.

“Yet it makes the task of killing that damned brat all the more difficult!  It still gives Lion-O a chance to live!”

“ ** _It is of little consequence.  Lion-O and his family shall be dealt with soon enough, but for now, it is of utmost importance for you to begin plans to take your soldiers to Middle Earth_ clandestinely _.  We shall give you further instruction once you arrive and settle your army out of sight,_** ” instructed the Lizard.

“ ** _We should not need to indicate the essentialness that you remain undetected.  Powerful individuals reside in Middle Earth, some whose powers of omnipresence and sense could very well expose us all if you do not tread carefully,_** ” said the Jackal.

Mumm-Ra seethed inwardly, now forgetting his previous fear and trepidation of showing insolence to his masters.  The discovery of knowing that the furry, teenage bastard was still happily alive was making Mumm-Ra’s blood boil impatiently, to the point where he was tempted to tell the Ancient Spirits of Evil exactly what he thought of their cowardly instructions.

Snarling, the mummy declared, “Very well.  I’ll arm all the animals in my command with the guns, the tanks, the aircrafts, the mechas, and every weapon in my disposal!  And I will leave a savage wake of destruction in my path, destroying and vanquishing all cities and kingdoms in your names, and finish it with the murder of all those Lion-O holds dear!”

“ ** _You will not be able to use any of your advanced weaponry, Mumm-Ra,_** ” the statue of the Ape broke in strongly.  Mumm-Ra, not sure if he heard correctly, twitched in even further cheated outrage as he glared upwards towards the faces of the four obelisks.  The corpse was so furious that he was no longer kneeling, but wrathfully upright on his own two feet.

The Vulture clarified, “ ** _Due to the immense amounts of magic encompassing Middle Earth, it is impossible to use any technology.  Any effort to bring it into Middle Earth will result in all electrical circuitry to short-circuit and become dead and unresponsive.  There is no way to escape the barriers and spells that permeate the lands, and not even our combined omnipotence can counteract the effects.  You cannot use technology in the world where Lion-O resides.  In fact, you will not even be able to summon the Black Pyramid to this world.  You will need to use the most primitive of weapons for your slaves and allow us to utilize our magic for transport, but it shall be enough for the inevitable subjugation._** ”

It was then that Mumm-Ra lost his temper completely.

Mumm-Ra screamed, “ _This is outrageous!  This is idiotic!  I will not bother with such a useless errand!  I will not hide away in the shadows like a thief, a coward, a simple –_ **AAAAAAAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHH!** ”

He was rewarded by sudden bolts of energy snaking through his body, setting each and every dead cell in his withered form alight with hellfire and the most excruciating pain imaginable.  Mumm-Ra dropped to his knees and convulsed, frothing at the mouth and his limbs jerking wildly before the punishment from the Ancient Spirits of Evil ceased.  The very bandages wrapped around Mumm-Ra were singed and smoking acrid odors while Mumm-Ra needed several long moments before his vision cleared.

The very chambers of Mumm-Ra started to rumble slightly, quivering with the oppressive force and merciless judgment of the four statues towering over their slave, their voice booming like thunder.

“ ** _Do not take that tone of impertinence with us, Mumm-Ra_** ,” the Jackal snarled.

“ ** _Need we remind you that you are_ our _servant?_** ” highlighted the deep voice of the Ape.

“ ** _It is_ not _the other way around_** ,” the Lizard growled.

The underlying threat was clear: do not question the Ancient Spirits of Evil.

Mumm-Ra felt actual blood and bile drip down his fangs and out of his flapping mouth, wiping it weakly with a frail hand.

“Forgive me, my Lords,” Mumm-Ra gasped, although he felt like spitting, “I forgot my place.”

The overlords’ eyes glowed in a cyclic rhythm of dissatisfaction, but they remained silent.

“My Lords, then please, tell me **_why_**.  Why are we to head to this Middle Earth and gamble with the young Prince and its inhabitants?  Why are you so invested in this realm?  Why must we indirectly hide instead of going full force with everything we have?  What exactly is so special about Lion-O that you wish to spare him for the moment?”

The Ancient Spirits of Evil then told Mumm-Ra their reason.

Mumm-Ra blinked, truly taken aback after listening to this, but then he began to laugh.

The gleeful jest of Mumm-Ra traversed throughout the giant halls, being heard in every corridor, every metallic cell and chamber, reaching the ears of all his slaves.

Though a few such as Slythe or Kaynar pretended later that the howls of madness did not affect them the slightest, each and every one of the Lizards, Dogs, Birds, and Tigersharks could not deny the shiver of fear coursing down their bodies.  Though Mumm-Ra wasn’t as abusive as he _could_ have been, and his casual murdering of the animals under his own control were lately being kept to a bare minimum thanks to needing a massive army to fight against the Thunderians’ forces, they all agreed that with Mumm-Ra laughing like this wouldn’t be good for any of them.

Still, within the hour, Mumm-Ra summoned his four generals to his private chambers for his orders.  Slythe, Kaynar, Vultaire, and Addicus all immediately answered the call and bowed to the withered figure in bandages, kneeling on the cold, metal floor on one knee.  Mumm-Ra contentedly watched while seated on his metal throne.

“You all have new orders.  Abandon all technology, all weapons, and take your second-in-commands as well as the stronger halves of your armies.  We are leaving this world temporarily and invading into a new one.  As of now, all preparations against the Thunderians will cease and desist.  _Indefinitely_.”

“ ** _WHAT?!_** ” screeched Slythe, his fat head popping up and his yellow, jaundiced eyes wide and glazed with shock and outrage.  They were so damned close!  Claudus and the rest of the cats were now in a perfect position to be wiped out and destroyed once and for all!  The lizard waited too long to delay his desire and vengeance to make each and every cat pay with the blood!

Mumm-Ra glared at Slythe for the intonation of audacity in his outburst as one of Mumm-Ra’s clawed hands began to glow with powerful energy, promising a rather excruciating, magical punishment   Slythe hurriedly and nervously quailed before bowing his head in submission.

“Forgive me, Lord Mumm-Ra.”

Vultaire gave a smug smirk from his beak before he prostrated himself even lower to the floor, declaring his a strong, refined voice, “Your benevolence, we thank you for gracing us with your new commands and opportunities to achieve your glory, but I must ask, in what way are we to serve you and the Ancient Spirits in this new land?”

_Ass kisser_ , thought Addicus, Slythe, and Kaynar to themselves.  It wouldn’t have been surprising if Mumm-Ra himself was thinking of the exact same thing.  Still, the living corpse made no indication of his derision as he answered.

“From what the Ancient Spirits of Evil have told me, this land contains something that will truly give us dominion over it and all of Third Earth.”

“Are the voices in my head allowed to have fun, Master?” Kaynar begged, his posture erect with pleasure and murderous, insane thoughts.  His tongue wagged out of his drooling mouth, and his eyes were so disturbingly wide and glazed that one could easily deduce that the canine was mentally unstable.  Mumm-Ra, upon seeing Kaynar’s eagerness, actually smiled in a vulpine manner.

“As long as it is within my orders, the bloodier, the better.”

Kaynar could have simply howled in ecstasy.  Addicus, who was next to him, shifted uneasily before speaking.

“Lord Mumm-Ra, but what about King Claudus and the Thunderians?  If we all leave for this new world, it may provide him an opening to attack our forces on the Black Pyramid.  If he ever discovers we have left Middle Earth, we may experience a massive setback.  Even our spy in his ranks would not be able to hide our absence from him.”

The gargantuan gorilla (along with the three other animal generals) was actually surprised to hear Mumm-Ra cackle with glee once again.

“That will not be a problem,” Mumm-Ra declared with anticipation, “In fact, I guarantee that Claudus and his ilk will be following us!”

* * *

“Jenyo, can you take this bag of medical supplies to the main healer tent?” Cheetara asked, holding a satchel out to the flying chipmunk, “Be careful and don’t jostle the bag too much, though.  There’s not much, and the doctors need all the medicine they can get.”

Normally, the cheetah would have done the delivery herself, but all morning, she and a few of the other Thunderians have been busy organizing a new section of tents for the latest refugees, and as such, Cheetara was bone tired with a pounding headache.  She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stay on her feet.

Although the fatigue and exhaustion was better than feeling the cold clamp of paranoid worry around her heart…

The flying chipmunk nodded wordlessly, managing a tired smile before she slung the bag over her shoulder, scurried up one of the stone walls, and glided smoothly away on the air towards the western section of the camps to make her delivery.

Cheetara breathed her thanks, exhaling therapeutically as she watched Jenyo fly away before turning back to her task with the tents.

“C’mon, Snarf!  You don’t know how much I had to beg and plead with the chef to get this for you before the lines!  The least you can do is try some.”

The Cleric blinked at the voice nearby before she got up to see whether this required any additional assistance, only to find a small Thunderian girl, holding out a small metal tin of steaming fish meat to a familiar, four-legged creature.  To the girl’s consternation, the pet did not even twitch and give any indication he was listening.

“Just a bite or two,” the she-kitten begged, “It’s fresh and hot from the fire.  The Fishman added some really good spices to make it especially tasty!”

“Wilykit, what are you doing?” the gentle Cleric asked as she ambled curiously to the girl.

“I managed to get a little food for Snarf, but he won’t eat it.  We haven’t seen him eat anything since we moved into the Tower.  It’s heartbreaking to look at him,” Wilykit said, concerned, as the animal continued to ignore her and the piping hot dinner.

Cheetara looked at Snarf sadly, noting how wretched the animal looked.  From what she heard from the elder Clerics, he used to be a conniving yet adorable little scamp who explored the city and never failed to get into escapades and trouble while invoking amusement.  It was hard to see that now considering his frame was thin, his long ears now dropping and frayed with bleeding edges, and his pelt and skin was grimy and coated with dirt.  From the way Cheetara could see his ribs sticking out under the folds of his hide, she had to marvel how Snarf didn’t keel over and perish from starvation.  But Snarf’s eyes were the most noticeable: jaundiced, baggy with dark circles of exhaustion, and so full of sadness.

It was almost as if he lost his will to live.

Rumor had it that Snarf had been this way ever since Queen Leona’s death.

But then again, the majority of the survivors from Thundera were probably feeling the exact same emotions.

The beautiful cheetah maiden knelt down and ruffled Wikykit’s hair in a sisterly fashion as she placated soothingly, “Wilykit, you’re doing a very compassionate thing.  But you can’t force Snarf to eat if he - ”

There was a sudden horn blast from one of the upper floors of the Tower, and Cheetara felt her heart climb to her throat.  The alarm from the lookouts could not be anything good, and already, the Thunderian civilians and soldiers around her instantly became alert with worried chatter and paranoid attention.

“By the Ancients, is it a raid?!”

“Soldiers, **_to arms!_** ”

“Mumm-Ra’s coming!  By Thundera, we’re doomed!”

“Daddy, I’m scared!”

“It’s probably nothing, little one.”

“Everyone, please remain calm!  **_Remain calm!_**   I repeat - !”

Wilykit’s electronic communicator crackled to life, startling the two of them (while Snarf remained unresponsive).

Cheetara willed her beating heart to calm down as Wilykit quickly grabbed the handheld from her belt and began to relay the correspondence.  No matter what she had been through, the Cleric would never be completely used to technology.

Although it was a little embarrassing that the children and teenage Thunderians were much more accepting and savvy of it than the adults and Clerics…

“This is Wilykit.  What’s going on?” the she-kitten declared loudly to the communicator over the din and chatter around her.  Her brother’s voice responded immediately.  For once, Wilykat was uncharacteristically serious and with a dire tone.

“There’s tanks approaching the camps!  They’re ours!  They’re the ones Generals Panthro and Grune left in!”

Cheetara’s eyes widened.  Jaga and Tygra left with them as well as a small battalion of soldiers last week…

“What’s wrong?” Wilykit asked, looking ill.

The slight pause and hitch in Wilykat’s voice did not ease any of the tension.

“Panthro says that that we need the healers and all the medics ready and waiting at the main entrance.  It’s…not good,” Wilykat said, and one could actually picture the boy wincing as he admitted this.

Within minutes, Cheetara and a number of Clerics, soldiers, and healers gathered at the entrance to the Tower of Omens, just in time to see the four Thundertanks rapidly approaching, invoking clouds of dust in their wake.  All of the voluntary minutemen already had their laser rifles aimed and ready, just in case this happened to be a trick or a Trojan Horse from the Lizards.  The Clerics clearly had the same train of thought, considering the way their gripped their wooden staves and stood on edge, ready to strike.

Cheetara felt her breath become heavy as the tanks rolled to a stop before the crowd before the rear hatch doors opened, revealing Panthro as he shouted out orders in his deep, baritone voice.  Cheetara’s eyes widened with dread as she saw the burly panther cradling a bloody and unconscious Thunderian warrior in his muscular arms; the recruit couldn’t be more than twenty years old…

“We have wounded!  Take them to the healer tents!  **_NOW!_** ” Panthro bellowed loudly enough for the entire crowd to hear him.

Everyone immediately sprang to action (though quite a few troopers refused to lower their guns), running towards the Thundertanks.  One burly Thundercat quickly came up to Panthro and took the still teenager from his arms.

“Here, let me,” the nameless soldier whispered.  Panthro’s voice was just as hoarse.

“Take him quickly.  I don’t know if he’s still alive.”

“He’s so young.”

Afterwards, Panthro slumped against the side of the Thundertank, one hand covering his eyes as the General did his best to not break down.  Cheetara turned away politely, a lump in her throat.

As the Clerics and healers immediately provided assistance, Cheetara saw Jaga and General Grune come out of one of the other tanks.  Jaga was grim, saddened, while Grune was furious, swearing a multitude of growls and curses as he marched off.  One Thunderian volunteer tried to approach Grune upon seeing the dried blood crusted down the side of his face.

“General Grune, are you  - ?”

“ ** _Piss off!_** ” roared the Sabertooth, scaring all those around him into providing a wide berth, as Grune stomped bad-naturedly towards the training grounds and shooting ranges.  Jaga shook his head at Cheetara, before he grimly walked over to the Tower where King Claudus would be waiting in the war-room.

“Grune’ll be OK,” a familiar voice said half-heartedly behind the cheetah, “He just needs to punch a few things to get it out of his system.”

Cheetara turned to see Tygra emerging from the last Thundertank, managing a cocky smile that did little to hide his unease and fatigue, not to mention the scuff marks, the singed fur from laser burns, and the cuts peppering his striped fur and body.

Cheetara automatically sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Ancient Spirits of Light that Tygra was alive and generally unharmed.  The breath that she hadn’t realized that burrowed in her gut, tightly coiled, let out in relief as she rushed to the strapping commander, gratefully hugging the brawny tiger.

But then the Cleric’s eyes widened as she then took a closer look at the sight of grime and blood on Tygra’s singed and torn uniform.

_Lizard_ blood.

“Tygra, what happened?” she asked worriedly, placing her hands on the tiger’s bruised hands and knuckles.

Tygra’s mouth went into a grim line, his face maintaining a fatigued, resentful expression, exhaling wearily through his nose.

* * *

“Your Majesty?”

From the tone in Jaga’s voice (and from the fact that Lynx-O sounded the alarms earlier from the lookouts), Claudus knew that the Head Cleric was bringing bad news.  The lion king squared his shoulders and turned away from the maps and reports of the numerous losses in battle before facing Jaga.

The sorrowful look on Jaga’s face was not encouraging.

“Mumm-Ra is now in possession of the Spirit Stone.”

“By the Ancients…” cursed Claudus, rubbing the bridge of his nose (and the scar) with one hand in deep disappointment and dread.

How in all of Third Earth did Mumm-Ra manage to get to the Elephant Village so quickly after the Thunderians just discovered its existence?

Claudus was already making plans to steal it from the Elephants before they could even realize it was gone.  His first and only meeting with a representative from the Elephant Village (and seeing their extremely sorry excuse of a memory) only convinced him that the Power Stone would be better in the Thunderians’ hands than theirs.

Now, it was too late.

Another in the long list of victories and small triumphs Mumm-Ra seemed to be gaining in this entire battle over Third Earth.

How could they keep losing like this?

_Why_ did they keep losing like this?

“What is the damage?” the Thunderian King asked after a minute of silence.

“A quarter of the Thunderian battalion have been killed,” Jaga stated, “Panthro and Grune managed to evacuate our remaining soldiers, but the entire Elephant village and their inhabitants - ”

“I don’t care about the Elephants, Jaga.”

The Cleric knew that King Claudus was under a lot of stress and pressure from the growing tension with the forces of Mumm-Ra.  The Cleric could empathize with King Claudus on the account that he was extremely worried for his people and fellow Thunderians who were now trying to survive their new situation and that Claudus was still grieving heavily with blame on the number of Thunderians who lost their lives since the attack and fall of city.  The Cleric could even understand that the years of war with no end in sight were taking their toll on Claudus and that he was simply tired and drained.

Even so, Jaga couldn’t help but frown at the callousness of that statement.  Claudus looked up and spotted the displeasure and affront, and he instantly showed remorse.

“I am sorry, Jaga.  I…I did not mean that.”

Jaga nodded, though he was still offended.   Aburn and Anet were good beings who did not deserve to die like that, and Jaga would see to it that he would set up a memorial pyre for them and the other Elephants later tonight.

Claudus continued on with the debate.

“Did Mumm-Ra’s forces follow them back to the Tower?” Claudus asked.

Jaga’s response was swift as he said, “Ponzi reported that there are no signs from any of the sentries that Mumm-Ra’s forces are any close to our borders while flying with Lucy.  However, Lynx-O and Panthro plan to increase security due to the failure of the mission, in both the tanks and in the aircrafts.”

“The tanks and aircrafts would be too conspicuous at this point.  Rely on the Clerics now for speed and stealth observation, have the tanks and aircrafts be on stand-by if there is need for heavy firepower.  What is the status of our people?”

“There is discontent, grumbling, fear, and a desire to get revenge on Mumm-Ra and his soldiers, the Lizards especially.  However, despite this, there is no general consensus of rebellion and abandonment; if anything, being in the Tower has given them reason to band together and never surrender.  All are actively trying to share supplies and assist each other, willing to do their part and beyond to help.”

“Some good news at last.  How is our situation with food and supplies?”

“The Fishmen managed to return undetected with several bags of fish to tide everyone over for several days.  Wilykit and Wilykat’s scouting parties managed to find a new supply of fruits and vegetables from a neighboring forest, and Viragor is working with the Berbils on replenishing the Candy Fruit in the groves as well as constructing new shelters and tents for the incoming refugees.  But…”

Jaga paused a bit, causing Claudus to look up before the elderly advisor then voiced his worry.

“We cannot live here forever.”

Claudus nodded, clearly not surprised by that opinion.  It was obvious that he was on the same train of thought.

“We can’t go back to Thundera.  There’s nothing left to rebuild, the Lizards have stolen and taken everything useful, and any efforts to salvage and start over would give Mumm-Ra opportunity to attack what’s left of our forces if we leave our fortress.  We cannot rebuild while we’re being hunted.”

“I agree, your Majesty, but we cannot hide here indefinitely either.  Mumm-Ra may not wait us out to linger and die, and despite the enchantments placed in the Tower, I cannot say with certainty we would endure if Mumm-Ra attacked us with all of his forces at once.  To be frank, I’m suspicious that he hasn’t already.”

“Perhaps he is scared to make such a siege.  The War Stone and the Sword of Omens may hold him back yet again.”

“You barely managed when you tried to fight Mumm-Ra’s forces in Avista.  And that was **_before_** Mumm-Ra gained the Spirit Stone.”

Claudus winced; he recalled how the only reason he managed to escape unscathed at that battle was because of Panthro and Lynx-O.

“What about our weaponry and technology armadas?”

“The Berbils are making constant improvements, and their training with our soldiers have yielded good results under Tygra and Lynx-O’s supervision.  All of our militia members are fully capable of piloting and utilizing the tanks, aircrafts, and various guns we have scavenged.  Unfortunately, even with the Berbils’ help, raw material to fix and upkeep all of our technology is nearly depleted, and the Wilykittens and their Thieves have informed me that they have nearly spent all the coffers from the Forever Bag.  Also, keep in mind, Mumm-Ra’s forces are more adept with technology than we are due to the fact that Mumm-Ra had perhaps over a century to study, utilize, and build it while we only had a decade at most.  Despite how quickly we can adapt, Mumm-Ra’s armies would continue to have the upper hand.”

Claudus nodded wearily.  It was funny how before the fall of Thundera ten years ago, he would have angrily dismissed technology as a myth and would have ungraciously sneered at anyone who was foolish to believe in such fairy tales.

However, waking up to have the city under flames and massive explosions from the payload of several missiles would be enough to change anyone’s stand on that viewpoint rather rapidly.

“We need to find a new weapon, a new tactic or advantage that Mumm-Ra does not have or perhaps a weakness in the Sword of Plundarr,” Claudus then concluded, “Any discoveries from the Book of Omens?”

“None.  All it continues to show is how Mumm-Ra was sealed and how we came to be.  No probing from my magic or examinations from the Berbils has yielded anything new.  Keep in mind, the Head Clerisy only knew _about_ the Book, but never truly explained how to harness its secrets.  I suspect it only will display its information when Fate decides that it is time.”

Claudus exhaled impatiently and with ragged heat.  They didn’t have the luxury to wait and research indefinitely.

“There has to be something we’re forgetting from legends past!” exclaimed Claudus with much impatience and frustration, “A secret weapon, a spaceship that can obliterate Mumm-Ra’s forces, an advanced magic spell, even…”

The King broke off.  He should have known better than to think of that option.  Both he and Tygra have tried countless times with the Sword of Omens, hoping they could see any sort of vision from the War Stone.  King Claudus bargained with the Ancient Spirits of Light, prayed and fasted studiously, made demands and pleas to allow his people to end their collective suffering by allowing him to manifest that powerful ability.

And each time was completely unsuccessful.

The Gods wouldn’t answer his prayers.

The lion laughed bitterly, turning back to the table littered with maps and reports, slumping heavily on the piece of furniture.

He was so tired of it all.  He was starting to lose faith, sinking into despair.

“Sight beyond sight,” he muttered, “If only it was as real as technology…”

Jaga felt his body stiffen, his eyes widening slightly.

For once, Jaga wished he did not ask for such detailed yearly reports with the Olórin character in the astral plane.

Jaga took a glance out of the window from Claudus’ war room.  His heart was troubled upon seeing the wounded soldiers from the battle at the Elephant Village, being bandaged or laid on straw mats while healers and the Clerics tended to them.  One nurse was draping a sheet over the bloody corpse of a bloody, Thunderian soldier while the soldier’s wife and children screamed in agonized grief upon seeing their loved one dead.

“No!” wailed the daughter, not much older than five years, and the nearby medic swept up the kitten in a hug.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Pumyra said softly, for once her brash, no-nonsense demeanor melting away to sympathy and tenderness.  The cub just sobbed in reply.  Nearby, the elderly father, who was only reunited with his son a year ago after being rescued by Tygra from the Plundarr mines, was weeping softly next to the prone form of the young soldier Panthro carried from the Thundertank.

His son didn’t make it.

Jaga saw all the refugees and former civilians of Thundera huddled together in groups, around fires, watching the casualties unfold and softly whispering in fear.  The Head Cleric could see the spooked faces, the unease, the growing trepidation of what the next hour would bring, the uncertainty of whether they would ever be able to live a free life again.  No more were the days of plentiful feasts and warm comforts of home.  Their faces were sallow, their clothes tattered and nearly rags, with many days where the Thunderians went hungry despite the best of rationing.  And it was not just the civilians.  Jaga and Claudus could see the fatigue in the Clerics, the Thunderian soldiers and minutemen, even in Panthro, Lynx-O, Grune, and Tygra’s faces.

And it wasn’t just the Thunderians whose lives were in danger.

The Dogs, the Lizards, the Tigersharks, the Birds, all the animals.  Even though some joined willingly to serve Mumm-Ra, none of them (not even the Lizards) deserved to be subjugated as a meager existence of being a worthless slave.  They would simply wither away, their future generations condemned to a pitiless, slow death once Mumm-Ra no longer found them useful.

And Mumm-Ra needed to be brought to justice for all the harm and destruction he had wrought on the entire planet.  Viragor’s forests were now barren wastelands, still smoking with charred wood, and the Magicians of the Forest were brutally massacred for refusing to relinquish their factory to supply Mumm-Ra’s armies.  The Berbils lived a life of slavery under the Lizards and the Conquedor (who sold them for a profit to Mumm-Ra) until the Thunderians managed to help them escape.  However, it did not erase all the years of torture and how many of the Berbils’ loved ones were missing with little hope they could be found in the black market and across the planet.  The poor Elephants who were a gentle race of tranquility and compassion that needed to be avenged.  And so many animals who did not wish to take part in the war with Mumm-Ra ended up losing their lives and homes anyway when Mumm-Ra brutally displayed the punishment for those who defied him.

Mumm-Ra was winning.

They were outgunned, outnumbered, and out of hope now that Mumm-Ra had _three_ Power Stones against theirone.

They were running out of options.  Running out of time.

Jaga swallowed once, wetting his lips.

Oh Ancient Spirits of Light, please forgive him.

“Your Majesty…” Jaga said in a grave voice, “I have a confession to make.”

* * *

The bellow came suddenly, without warning.

“ ** _YOU DID WHAT?!_** ”

Every Thunderian, even the Clerics, was caught off guard from the booming voice of their king as he roared loudly enough to vibrate his ire throughout the entire sanctity of the Tower of Omens, causing the neighboring birds in the trees to dash off in alarm and for Snarf to squeal and cower under the nearest basket.

Panthro actually blinked his good eye in surprise as he murmured, “Claudus sounds angry.”

“Whatever it is, we didn’t do it!” chimed in Wilykit and Wilykat fearfully in plausible deniability.


	4. Meeting the Company

                “Gandalf, it is good to see you!” Lion-O shouted as he literally gave the old wizard a bear hug so powerful, Lion-O managed to lift a surprised Gandalf off his feet and dangle him several inches off the ground in his embrace.  Flustered and embarrassed, the bearded man swatted the teenager playfully in the arms, much to the amusement of the Dwarves observing this, chuckling.

                “Put me down this instant, you dunderhead!” Gandalf sputtered, although one could see that Gandalf was smiling underneath his white whiskers, “Young Lion-O, really, your father would take your ear and ground you for treating me this way in front of company!  We have guests, in case you have failed to see the group I have behind me!”

                Embarrassed but laughing, Lion-O put down his godfather before he turned his attention to the group of eight who were standing among the grassy fields.  Even though it was nighttime, Lion-O could see them plainly enough.  They were all short, shorter than he or Gandalf, although Lion-O would have guessed that they were all taller and more heavily built than his own father.  They had the strangest clothing of leather jerkins and leggings, and one or two of them easily sported fur cloaks and boots.  But what was most noticeable about the eight strangers was that they all were sporting beards with intricate braids and beads and that they were all carrying weapons.  Axes, hammers, and swords, and two were carrying what appeared to be a staff of iron and a wicked-looking spear.

                Lion-O couldn’t help but be a little apprehensive, although a small part of his mind was immediately thinking of the fairy tales of noble warriors and errant knights of kingdoms past.  Plus, if they were travelling with Gandalf, then they couldn’t have been evil.

                Likewise, the eight Dwarves were a little taken aback from the strange teenager who seemed to be on excellent terms with the wandering wizard.

                He was certainly not like the other Hobbits in the Shire.

                Lion-O was tall, almost up to Gandalf’s height, with a body of a young man but the whiskered face of a cat, blue eyes as bright as the sky, hands and bare feet that ended with claws, and a lean frame with some muscle from all the various years of labor he did around the Shire (to this day, Lion-O was still working off the damage to the Thain’s property due to the catapult incident).  Yet despite wearing a tan dress shirt rolled up at the elbows with suspenders and brown trousers, the Dwarves could see that the entire body of the lion was completely covered with a thick pelt of creamy brown and beige fur, complete with a spiky, untamed mane of red hair on his head and his tail which was protruding out of the seat of his leggings.

                Remembering his manners, Lion-O turned to the Dwarves and bowed deeply, saying, “Lion-O Baggins, at your service.”

                The one Dwarf wearing a strange, floppy hat and sporting an impressive mustache immediately returned the gesture with a friendly, easy-going smile as he returned the bow stating, “Pleasure!  Bofur, at yours, lad!”

                A strange Dwarf, grizzled with black hair mixed with streaks of white, introduced himself next, and…was that the head of an axe embedded in the front of his skull?  Lion-O couldn’t help it as he stared, but thankfully, the stranger took no offense (and he probably had dealt with this kind of reaction many times before in the past) as he made a strange motion with his hands.  It took several seconds before Lion-O realized that the Dwarf was communicating through some sort of sign language.  Upon seeing the confusion, the fattest of the Dwarves with braids of red hair wobbled forward, like an obese penguin.

                “That’s Bifur, and he says hello.  Bombur, at your service!  And may I ask what sort of food do you have prepared for dinner?”

                Lion-O blinked.  Dinner?  Did his father invite them?  Well, they certainly didn’t look rich, so they probably were in need of a good meal.  And it wouldn’t be proper Hobbit etiquette if they turned away a hungry person.  And it was already past the dinner hour at the Green Dragon, so the group wouldn’t truly be able to get a good meal there.  But before he could ask, the next Dwarf popped up out of Lion-O’s blind spot, startling him a bit.

                “The name’s Nori!” the Dwarf chimed in, and though he smiled, Lion-O couldn’t help but have a wary feeling about him, although his orange, star-shaped hairstyle was incredibly funny-looking.  The next Dwarf who stepped up was fussily telling Nori to hush before offering a hand to Lion-O to shake, being more cordial.  Lion-O, smiling, shook it, observing the Dwarf’s gray beard and hair, all tied with exquisite and complicated braids and beads.

                “Pleasure to meet you, young Lion-O.  My name is Dori.  And do not worry: I shall ensure that my brother, Nori, does not make off with your silver.”

                “Oi!  You don’t need to tell him that!” squawked Nori in protest.

                “I’m not having you getting us kicked out of another town, Nori.  This looks like a peaceful place, and Mahal only knows how much Ori was shaken from the last time you stole things that did not belong to you!”

                “Technically, we were not kicked out of the last town!  And it _wasn’t_ because I stole silverware!”

                “Don’t argue semantics with me, Nori!  Kicked out or chased out, I do not know about you, but I would like **_not_** being awakened in the middle of the night by a mob carrying pitchforks and torches a second time!”

                “ **That cattle stampede was not my fault!** ”

                “Well, no, the _stampede_ was not your fault, I’ll admit that.  Causing the bulls to invoke a riot when you ran through the pens with the governor’s daughter’s red underwear, however, **_was_ ** your fault.”

                “I didn’t have much of a choice when the governor’s sentries were chasing me!”

                Lion-O kept watching this exchange with new feelings of unease and confusion.  While Nori and Dori continued to argue, the next Dwarf stepped forward and bowed, wearing a colorful scarf, knitted fingerless gloves, and hugging a large tome to his chest.  The braids in his hair were entwined with thin mauve ribbons.

                “I’m Ori, son of Ri.  Pleased to meet you, Lion-O.”

                “Well met, Ori, son of Ri.  And I like the scarf.  Did your mother make it for you?”

                Ori actually blushed and smiled brightly, and Lion-O got the impression that he was far younger, almost innocent, compared to the others of the ragtag group.  He was almost like a child in personality.

                “Actually, no.  I knitted it myself.”

                “It’s good work,” Lion-O covered quickly for his initial mistake, and if anything, that made Ori’s eyes twinkle even more.  Seemingly irritated at the delay of standing around, a burly and impressively-sized Dwarf pushed through, his wild hair and beard was almost an exact shade of red as Lion-O’s mane.  He was carrying an impressive axe with a silver, bejeweled head, and there was a faint crisscrossed scar on the Dwarf’s forehead above one eyebrow.

                “Glóin, young one,” the Dwarf nodded.  He seemed stern, but Lion-O managed to maintain a friendly bow in return.  And upon a second look, was he imagining things or was Glóin wearing some sort of locket?

                The last member of the group ambled over in a dignified manner.  This Dwarf was the one carrying a staff rather than a bladed weapon (which was actually a pleasant and intriguing change), his bushy hair and beard all completely dark gray, and carrying a rather large satchel.

                Lion-O bowed, saying, “Lion-O Baggins, at your service.”

                “What?  What did you say?” the grizzled being squawked, and he leaned one side of his head closer to Lion-O.  The teenager was at first confused and a little fearful that perhaps he offended the stranger until his eyes fell on the tin ear-trumpet that the Dwarf was holding up with one hand.

                Ah.  Now Lion-O felt a little silly.  He leaned over and shouted right into the metal ear-trumpet, “ ** _Lion-O Baggins!  At your service!”_**

                _Whap!_

                Lion-O now sported a rather painful bump on his head, right between his ears, and the Thunderian youth was crouching on the ground, holding his pounding cranium and trying his best to topple over from the sudden dizziness and blurry vision.  The Dwarf harrumphed irately after clouting Lion-O over the head with his gloved hand.

                “Ow…” moaned Lion-O.  For such a short person, the traveler was incredibly strong.

                “I’m deaf, but I’m not **that** deaf!  And from the way you yelled directly into my ear trumpet, you’re lucky I didn’t wallop you with my staff!”

                Gandalf felt sorry for Lion-O as he helped his godson up from his sprawled position, chuckling as he explained, “Lion-O, yelling directly into his ear-trumpet is just as painful as if someone yelled directly into yours.  No one appreciates being shouted at in such a manner.  Just simply speak _a bit_ louder than normal, and Óin will be able to perfectly hear you.”

                “Óin?” groaned Lion-O, rubbing the tender lump.

                “The Dwarf who just hit you.”

                “Dwarf?” groaned Lion-O.

                “I do believe you hit him a little too hard, Óin,” chimed in Ori nervously from the sidelines.

                The white-haired Dwarf just sniffed, “Please.  I just gave the weakling a simple tap.  That is all.”

                “Some tap,” muttered Lion-O under his breath, glaring at the Dwarf, but Gandalf scolded grandfatherly at the Thunderian.

                “Now, now, Lion-O.  You did do a rather blatant and careless act, and these Dwarves have traveled far from their homeland to come for a nice hot meal and a place to rest.  Do not be rude.  What would your father say if he were to see your lack of manners?”

                Lion-O’ glare softened.  Gandalf was correct on that front.

                Lion-O sighed, rubbing his tender scalp before he bowed (albeit reluctantly and moodily) to Óin before saying, “My apologies for yelling in your ear, Master Óin.”

                “Accepted,” Óin replied with a nod.  The Dwarf with the hat (Bofur, if Lion-O remembered correctly), laughed as he patted Lion-O on the arm.

                “Aw, lad, don’t take it personally.  Óin’ll heal you right up as quick as can be if your head is still going to give you trouble later on.  He’s one of the best healers in all of Dwarfdom, and we wouldn’t want you to have a concussion after this.  Now, how about we head off to your father’s home and have something to drink and eat?  We’d all feel a bit better on full stomachs.”

                Lion-O decided that it wasn’t all bad; at least they seemed friendly.  Although he was definitely going to make sure to keep an eye on the one called Nori.  And right now, Lion-O still had a little resentment and less than charitable feelings towards Óin.  However, both he and Gandalf smiled at the camaraderie and the simple wisdom of Bofur’s words before the entire group started on the dirt road to Bag End.

                “Does Father know about these Dwarves coming for dinner?” Lion-O couldn’t help but ask as they walked, one eyebrow raised worriedly.  Bilbo never enjoyed rude surprises.  Gandalf smiled underneath his whiskers.

                “I visited him at Bag End this morning.”

                “Oh,” was all Lion-O could say to that.  Lion-O thought about how much food Bilbo had in the pantry and hoped it would be enough to feed all of these Dwarves.  Secretly, he hoped that he didn’t have to offer the sandwiches Barmy Rootknot let Lion-O take with him after his work-shift, hidden in his pockets.  On the few days where there were some leftovers after the dinner rush, Barmy would take the leftover bacon, fry it perfectly to a crisp, sauté some onions and mushrooms, and stuff the entire concoction in a crispy baguette of bread to give to Lion-O and Bilbo for a midnight snack.  It was one of the teenager’s absolute favorite perks in working at the Green Dragon.

                It was also one of Bilbo’s favorites as well. But then again, what Hobbit did not enjoy the sublime tastes of bacon and mushrooms?

                “I swear I actually smell bacon,” whined Bombur at the back of the group.  Apparently, being the fattest of the Dwarves made the portly figure difficult to keep up the pace of Lion-O and Gandalf as the red-haired cook sniffed the air hungrily, trailing behind.

                “So, you’re all Dwarves?” Lion-O hurriedly changed the subject, ignoring Bombur’s remark, “By any chance, are you all from Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains?”

                “Aye, young Lion-O, that we are.  And a good guess I might add.  Pray tell, how do you know about Ered Luin?” Bofur answered, cocking his head, but a part of him was starting to suspect that the Thunderian wasn’t trying to make polite conversation, but that Lion-O was truly being friendly and interested.  Pity that more of Middle Earth couldn’t treat Dwarves with a fraction of that decency.

                Lion-O smiled as he explained, “My father has many maps of Middle Earth, and he spends many hours looking and wondering about the kingdoms and lands that go beyond the Shire borders.  And once in a while, we have several Dwarf peddlers come visit Hobbiton to sell their wares and services.  Father usually sends me to get our knives and cutlery mended, and one was kind enough to tell me about Ered Luin.  Although…he didn’t tell me much.”

                Bifur just smirked to himself as he heard this.

                Friendly or not, Dwarves rarely trusted outsiders.

                Bifur then signed in Iglishmêk (with Bofur translating), “ _A few of our kin have traveled to the Shire and Hobbiton before.  Peaceful and fertile, good crops and food, if we Dwarves actually cared about such things.  Pity about no trade for a blacksmith or mining._ ”

                Dori interjected, “Although I am curious as to you and your father residing here.  The Shire and its inhabitants are well renowned for being polite but suspecting of strangers.  How is it that Hobbits are gracious enough to be comfortable by allowing you and your father to dwell in their town?”

                Lion-O smiled as he explained, “My father is a Hobbit.  I’m adopted.”

                “My, we would have _never_ guessed that,” Nori drawled in a lighthearted manner, only to be answered with a soft punch on the arm by Glóin.

                Glóin growled, “By the Blue Mountains, do not mock such a noble thing.  Young Baggins, children are one of the greatest and most valued treasures to Dwarves.  You cannot know how fiercely us Dwarves will protect and value our kin and family, and as such, we have utmost respect for a Hobbit who is willing to love and raise a child that is not his own.  Don’t let any fool tell you otherwise or that blood is more important than love.”

                Lion-O blinked.  It appeared the red-haired Dwarf wasn’t a grumpy, unsocial being after all, and Lion-O couldn’t help but ease his defenses a bit.

                “Thank you, Master Glóin.  By any chance, do you have children?”

                Glóin’s eyes went dreamy as the burly Dwarf gave a big smile and said, “Aye, lad.  My son, Gimli, and he’s the shining jewel - ”

                This speech and reverie was instantly drowned by various protests from the other Dwarves.

                “ ** _Oi!_** ”

                “Really? Do we have to hear this now?!”

                “Not again…”

                “Glóin, let’s just have dinner first!”

                “Nori, quick!  Clout me in the head.  It would be a lot less painful.”

                Bifur made a hand motion for Glóin to shut up.

                And Lion-O just chuckled.

                “So if your father is a Hobbit, then what are you?” Ori could not help but ask with childlike curiosity.  Thankfully, Lion-O’s answer came easily enough, given years of being asked that same question by the many visitors of the Shire.

                “I am a Baggins, of Bag End.  And please leave it at that, Master Ori.”

                And with that, Lion-O opened the gate to the path to his home, with Gandalf leading the Dwarves up the stairs.  Unfortunately, it was tricky to climb the cobblestone steps without stumbling.  Just as Óin found out as his foot caught on the edge of a step and sent him sprawling, his ear trumpet flying out of his hands and into the bushes.

                Thankfully, before the Dwarf medic could hit the ground, the furry teenager managed to scoop down and catch Óin just in time, although the effort made the muscles in Lion-O back protest as Lion-O grimaced.  Despite being short, these Dwarves were heavier than they looked.

                “You all right, brother?” Glóin barked from the head of the line.

                “My ear trumpet?  Where’s my ear tumpet?!” Óin cried out.

                “Next to Bombur’s left foot, hidden under the juniper bush,” Lion-O said, pointing with a nod of his head before the group could start looking around.  The portly Dwarf blinked before he cautiously bent over (a difficult feat for someone of his girth) and Bombur carefully felt around the pitch-black shadows underneath the branches before, to his surprise, he felt the metal instrument.

                “How did you do that?” Bombur asked, impressed as he waddled over and gave the trumpet back to Óin.

                Lion-O smiled a bit sheepishly as he helped the thankful Óin steady himself on his feet before stating, “I have slight night vision.  I can see in the dark.”

                Nori smiled, rubbing his chin with one hand, “Interesting.  No wonder Gandalf thinks you’d be a wonderful burglar.”

                The other Dwarves shushed Nori furiously, but Lion-O was now a bit worried as well as confused, and he turned to Gandalf with a look for clarification.  To his slight annoyance, his godfather gave a rather benign smile before wordlessly continuing to walk up the path towards Bag End without a word.

                Lion-O exhaled through his nose; as much as he liked Gandalf, there were times he could be so aggravating.

                And it appeared that Bilbo was going to be in full agreement of that sentiment as Lion-O unlocked the door and ushered everyone in.

                In short, Bilbo Baggins was having an honest-to-goodness fit.  Lion-O viewed four other Dwarves were already in the grand smial before Gandalf’s group, and immediately and quite rudely were making themselves home by rearranging the furniture and raiding his pantry.  Lion-O’s father was doing his best to protest, beg, yell, and plead with his unwanted guests to stop.  He might as well have been talking to a stone wall as the Dwarves set out a feast on the table, carelessly flinging out doilies and placemats, grabbing dishes and silverware, and arranging chairs in a jumbled mess without any sense of order or decorum.  Two of the visitors immediately vanished down the stairs that led to the cellar, hooting and whooping like lunatics.  However, Lion-O then got a closer look at the other two Dwarves who were in Bilbo’s dining room and kitchen.  One was bald, burly with a bushy beard and a barrel-like chest of pure muscle while the other was shorter, more portly, and has a puffy mane and beard of white.

                For some reason, Lion-O could almost imagine them being termed as the Warrior and the Sage.

                Upon seeing the others, the two aforementioned Dwarves automatically hailed Gandalf’s group like old friends, invoking cheers as Bofur, Bombur, Bifur, Nori, Dori, Ori, Glóin, and Óin immediately shook off their cloaks and coats before making a beeline for the welcoming meal.

                Bilbo then took one look at Lion-O and the crowd behind him before he let out an undignified groan, sinking to the floor on his rear and about ready to pass out from the unpleasant shock.

                “No!  _Nonononononononono!_   Son, not you too!  Please tell me you did not invite these Dwarves to stay in our house!” Bilbo practically wailed.

                Lion-O then whirled on his godfather, confused.

                “I thought you said you told my father that they were coming to dinner this morning!”

                Gandalf clarified in a cheeky and innocent tone as he escorted the eight Dwarves into the cozy kitchen, “I said I **visited** dear Bilbo this morning.  I never said that I told him that I was bringing company.”

                Bilbo sputtered, his face red as he furiously jumped up from the floor, “You…!  You are as twisted as the wooden staff you carry!  You are the bane of all straight answers, and the boon of all things cryptic!  You are the wizard who wanders into homes instead of out of them!  You bring in unwanted guests like a dog brings in fleas!  You are - !”

                Gandalf, in his merriment, didn’t see the hanging ceiling lamp of the living room until he actually collided into it, bumping his head rather painfully and invoking a small grunt of discomfort.

                Bilbo finally smirked as he said, “You are one with the chandelier.”

                The frown on Gandalf’s face showed he was not amused at the joke.

                Meanwhile…

                “Hey!  If you want ale, I can serve you!  Just put that back!” Lion-O roared, now showing his canines at the other two unknown Dwarves who were lugging out one of Bilbo’s barrels of mead out of the basement with much glee.  For the sake of Eru, did these Dwarves know nothing of reservation and respect?  Both of the Dwarves blinked at the towering, furry Thunderian growling at them, his blue eyes now flashing dangerously and his hackles and tail rising.

                “Kíli, look!  Mister Boggins has a house cat!” piped up the blond Dwarf with a small braided goatee.  Despite Lion-O’s annoyance, the Dwarf seemed eager, almost amused at how angry he was making his host.

                “I am not a housecat, I am a Baggins of Bag End.  Mister Baggins is my father.  And that is _our_ ale you’re pilfering,” growled Lion-O.

                “But…you’re not a Hobbit,” blinked the dark-haired Dwarf, giving Lion-O the impression that he was actually as young as Ori in a way, childish and impulsive.

                “No, I am a Baggins of Bag End.”

                “And a housecat, Young Boggins,” grinned the blond impishly.

                “ ** _Not a housecat_** ,” repeated Lion-O, trying his best to not snap back and show anger.  Upon hearing this, both of the Dwarves actually set the barrel of mead gently on the floor before coming up towards Lion-O, staring inquisitively.  Lion-O was at first confused until he realized that the two Dwarves were studying him, peering closely at his body, his face, his hair, actually poking his furry skin, and the dark-haired Dwarf actually was bold and audacious enough to grasp Lion-O’s sensitive tail with his fingers.

                “Oi!  His tail is real!  It moves and has bones and everything!”

                Lion-O yowled as he irately and hurriedly jerked his bushy tail out of the Dwarf’s hand, finally snapping, “Do that one more time, and I’ll claw your face off!”

                “Lion-O, no violence,” Bilbo lectured from the background, his voice mild but with a core of steel underneath.

                _Dratted Hobbit sensibilities_ , thought the furry adolescent to himself as he inhaled sharply through his nose, his nostrils white.  If anything, the reprimand actually made the two Dwarves smirk at each other as they merrily stood at attention and bowed to the furry teen.

                “Fíli…” said the blond Dwarf.

                “And Kíli…” said the dark-haired Dwarf.

                “At your service,” the two guests finished together in perfect unison.

                By the Gods, first they were robbing them, and now they were trying to make _introductions_?

                Still not the least bit calm, Lion-O balled his hands into fists and growled, “Give me one good reason to let you two hoodlums steal our ale and take our food and act like complete boorish beggars in our home.”

                The two Dwarves grinned identical, impish smiles at each other before they both spoke, circling around Lion-O like vultures with their prey, making it difficult for Lion-O to keep his eyes on them.

                “Because your father would want you to be a good host?” Fíli asked.

                “Because as a Boggins of Bag End, you are expected to mind your manners and be a Gentle-Hobbit?  Or Gentle- Housecat?” snickered Kíli

                “Because Gandalf wanted us to meet here?”

                “Because we came all this way from the Blue Mountains for a grand reunion, and it would be a damned shame to toss out weary and hungry Dwarves who are merely requesting a bit of the plentiful bounty you share?”

                “Because you’re expected to be on your best behavior?”

                “Because you wouldn’t want to disappoint your dear old father?”

                “And because we asked nicely?” both Kíli and Fíli chimed in together with toothy grins.

                “You didn’t ask to begin with!” griped Lion-O.

                “We’re asking **now** , Young Boggins,” Fíli pointed out sweetly, tilting his head to the side.

                “It’s Baggins,” snapped Lion-O in return.

                “Boggins,” Fíli repeated with a nod.

                “Baggins.”

                “Boggins.”

                “ _Baggins!_ ”

                “Boggins!”

                “ **Baggins!**   With an ‘a’!”

                “Boggins, without the ‘a’.”

                “…you cannot be _this_ oblivious.”

                “Says our little lion who does not realize we’ve been teasing him non-stop,” cheeked Kíli.

                Lion-O just shut his eyes hard and wished that they would both miraculously vanish into the Void, exhaling loudly through his nose.  Fíli and Kíli then both chortled impishly before they powerfully slapped Lion-O on the back, nearly causing him to stumble.

                “By Mahal’s hammer, you need to develop a sense of humor!  We are merely having fun with you, Young Boggins!  There is no need to act as if all of Middle Earth will perish!” Kíli laughed.

                “No, just Bag End!” snapped Lion-O as he tried to cuff Kíli upside the head, but the Dwarven Prince easily dodged the blow.

                Fíli pointed out smugly, “Ah, ah, ah!  Remember: _no violence_.”

                Lion-O just growled, showing his teeth.  Manners or not, his temper was making his face almost as flushed and red as his hair.

                For some unknown reason, Fíli then decided to take pity on Lion-O’s frustration, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head.  Fíli then asked nonchalantly, “Lion-O, how many Dwarves do you count are in your home?”              

                Lion-O looked up, blinking.  That was an abrupt change to the subject…

                “I’d say twelve.”

                “Fourteen, actually.  Fifteen if you include Gandalf as your guest.”

                “Very well.  Fifteen.  And your point?”

                “So if there are fifteen guests, each one requires a mug or a drink, correct?”

                Lion-O blinked in confusion, not seeing where this was going.

                “…yes?”

                “And you’ll be all right with serving us?  Running up and down the cellar steps, refilling only two mugs at a time considering you only have two hands?  To serve drinks like a proper host?  For fifteen guests?  Dwarves whom can easily polish off a tankard in ten seconds like our dear Dwalin?”

                “Three seconds, young Fíli,” bragged the burly, bald Dwarf (the one Lion-O termed as the “Warrior” earlier at first glance) without aplomb.

                Lion-O just continued looking at Kíli and Fíli like they were truly insane.

                “Ah, silly me.  Three seconds, then.  My point still stands, Young Boggins.  Do you truly think it easier to serve us throughout dinner from the cellar as opposed to having us simply bring the barrels up to the dining room to serve ourselves?  To lessen your burden?  Wouldn’t that make things easier for you and Mister Boggins?” Fíli highlighted.

                Lion-O opened his mouth but then hesitated.

                When the Dwarf put it that way…

                Lion-O sighed, already feeling a headache as he rolled his eyes upwards.

                “How many barrels do you and the other Dwarves require for me to bring up?”

                As it turned out, **_all_** of them.  Granted, Kíli, Fíli, and the big Dwarf (Dwalin) were gracious enough to help Lion-O carry everything upstairs from the cellars, but it was still incredibly aggravating.  The entire group left nothing unturned in their raid of the ale, cider, mead, and wine (even the rare cordials that had been in storage since Bungo Baggins was a bachelor).  And of course, the entire food stock in the larder was completely demolished.

                Bilbo just mournfully stared at the empty pantry, so woefully empty that the Hobbit could almost hear a wailing gust of wind emanating from the sacked storeroom.  A few scant crumbs were all that was left on the wooden shelves.  It was enough to make Bilbo throw a complete temper tantrum and cry like a baby.  The only thing that kept him still was his Hobbit respectability (and it was probably the only thing that kept Bilbo from grabbing Holman’s axe and committing mass murder).

                Meanwhile, the dining room thundered with boisterous and happy cheering as the Dwarves and Gandalf devoured everything with relish and eager appetites.  It was perhaps a microscopic comfort that at the very least, their guests were happy.

                Lion-O came up from behind and rubbed his father’s shoulder affectionately, though he had to secretly admit that seeing Bag End without food for the first time in his life was a bit jarring.  Bilbo just let out another aggravated exhale through his nose.

                “We can go to the market tomorrow morning,” Lion-O tried to offer.

                Bilbo still looked peeved.

                “If only that brute Master Dwalin didn’t steal our dinner,” he muttered bitterly.  Lion-O instantly felt bad for his father as he bit his lip in thought before he then remembered the food Barmy Rootknot gave him after his work-shift.

                “Father…” Lion-O murmured as he knelt down and handed Bilbo one of the wrapped sandwiches from his pocket.  Bilbo, upon realizing what his son was doing, protested weakly, pushing away the greasy bread back to his ward.

                “Lion-O, no!  It’s yours.  You cannot - !”

                “I already ate at the Green Dragon, and Barmy gave me two sandwiches.  Please, take this, and I’ll start up some tea.  And I think one of the Dwarves made some soup earlier over in the kitchens.  Don’t bother giving it back to me.  If you try, I’ll just give it to one of the guests.  And I’m quite sure that Bombur fellow would gladly devour it.”

                Bilbo was silent for a second as Lion-O gave a cheeky smirk, almost daring his parent to object.  Giving in, the Hobbit then kissed Lion-O tenderly on the forehead.

                “You’re a stubborn boy,” Bilbo said softly with a smile.

                “My father has Took blood.  Whatever did you expect?” returned Lion-O.

                Thankfully, Lion-O was able to scrounge some leftover vegetable soup that one of the Dwarves made over the stove in a bubbling pot, enough to fill a considerable bowl.  After making sure Bilbo could eat peacefully on his armchair next to the fire with some tea, Lion-O went to check on the Dwarves.

                Only to let out a yell of shock when he saw them tossing Bilbo’s fine china and crockery in the air, like a massive juggling act and passing to one another before ending to Bifur (surprisingly) who was eagerly handling the messy platters and washing them in the kitchen sink.

                “Have you Dwarves gone mad?!” Lion-O practically yelped, “That’s my Father’s good china!”

                “Oi!  Lion-O, catch!” Kíli yelled, and too late, the startled young Baggins missed the saucer lobbed at him before awkwardly and unsuccessfully trying to get a grip on the fluttering plate before it dropped through his fingers and crashed onto the floor, shattering.

                “Lion-O!” wailed Bilbo in the background.

                The young Baggins winced before he meekly said an apology; he was pretty sure that was one of Bilbo’s antiques…

                Bilbo then cried out, “Stop them before they blunt the knives!”

                “Oooh, do you hear that, lads?  He says we’ll blunt the knives,” the Dwarf Bofur grinned as he glanced at his comrades meaningfully, pounding the wooden table in a rhythmic beat while clinking cutlery.  Gandalf just smiled and winked at the distraught and harried Lion-O, not the least bit worried.

                What were the Dwarves doing?

                “ _Blunt the knives, bend the forks.  Smash the bottles and burn the corks.  Chip the glasses and crack the plates.  That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!_ ” Kíli and Fíli sang, joined in by the baritone voices of Bofur, Nori, and Glóin.

                Lion-O and Bilbo could only stare dumbfounded as assorted tableware and utensils flew in the air at various intervals.  Bombur hungrily scraped all the food leftovers and licked the platters clean before the rest of the Dwarves were skillfully juggling and tossing them in an assembly line without even chipping or cracking them against one another, using their hands, elbows, and even their knees and feet.

                Lion-O was unsure whether to feel horrified or impressed while Bilbo grabbed his hair and looked like he was going to have a nervous breakdown.

                “ _Cut the cloth, tread on the fat.  Leave the bones on the bedroom mat.  Pour the milk on the pantry floor.  Splash the wine on every door!_ ”

                Dwalin took out a fiddle, and Bofur whipped out a flute from the sleeves of his coat.  In unison and without prompting, both started playing a jaunty, upbeat, and light-hearted melody.  The healer Óin ingeniously used a teapot as a makeshift trumpet, whistling through the spout merrily.  Not having any musical instruments, the other Dwarves eagerly banged metal pots and stomped on the floor with their heavy feet in tempo as they sang.

                “ _Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl.  Pound them up with a thumping pole.  When you're finished if they are whole.  Send them down the hall to roll._ ”

                And as momentarily as it started, the procession of china had suddenly stopped.  Agitated, Bilbo rushed towards the kitchen along with Lion-O, both of them expecting a rather disastrous mess when they both stopped short at the sight.  
                There, to a crowd of smiling and satisfied Dwarves (and Gandalf) was a neat little stack of sparkling-clean dishes, bowls, and silverware, all sorted, washed and dried meticulously.  Bifur, his arms still wet with sudsy dishwater from the sink, just winked at Lion-O.

                “ _That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!_ ” the rowdy bunch finished in unison.

                Lion-O couldn’t help it.

                He laughed, invoking a couple of cheers from several of the Dwarves upon seeing that the lion was enjoying the fun.  These Dwarves were boorish, rude, pushy, and certainly lacking manners and dignity normally found in Hobbits, but they were completely hilarious.  Even Bilbo couldn’t help but smile with appreciation at the well-ordered heap the guests had created in consideration as he walked into the kitchen.

                “Thank you,” the Hobbit patriarch said with a nod of his head as the Dwarves toasted each other and laughed, feeling more and more at home.

                Without warning, there was a sudden series of heavy pounding on the front entrance that was miraculously heard over the boisterous din, bringing all the Dwarves to a sudden standstill.  Well, except the near-deaf Óin…

                “Did I hear something or does my trumpet need cleaning?” muttered Óin to no one in particular.

                Lion-O and Bilbo were both a bit surprised at how abruptly hushed their guests had become, but Gandalf just smiled.

                “He is here,” the wizard announced solemnly.

                Confused, Lion-O and Bilbo tagged along the group of Dwarves as they followed Gandalf to the front door (with Kíli and Fíli the most eager, expectantly on their toes like impatient children) before Gandalf opened the door.

                There, on the approach, stood a rather majestic-looking Dwarf with long flowing locks of ebony and a neatly-cropped beard.  Strong, with broad shoulders and a barrel-chest, almost as intimidating as Dwalin himself, only instead of fierce and dangerous, this Dwarf seemed more…haunted, reserved, and cold.  Bilbo had to blink at the ostentatious clothing the Dwarf was wearing, so unlike any of the normal attire he had seen on any of their unexpected visitors.  A fur coat of beige draped over a dark-blue tunic worn over shining armor composed of tiny, linked, metal plates with furry boots strapped with leather.  But his craggy face, despite being weathered, held dark eyes of blue and black, so deep and piercing that they almost could stare through your soul without effort.

                Bilbo suddenly felt hot around his collar as his heart skipped a beat.

                The thirteenth Dwarf then spoke in a refined voice that cast shadows, mixed with aristocracy and danger.

                “Gandalf.  I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice.  Wouldn’t have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door,” the Dwarf intoned in a baritone voice.

                Gandalf smiled to Bilbo and Lion-O as he declared, “May I present to you, his majesty, Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of our esteemed Company.”

                Lion-O and Bilbo’s eyes both widened.  A king?  _In Bag End? **Here?**_

                Suddenly, Lion-O felt very small and inadequate, wanting to disappear.  By Yavanna, how was he to introduce himself to royalty?!  Even the Thain had the ability to make the young lion feel like he was only three inches tall.

                In the fairy tales, they were figures of great wisdom and power, responsible, triumphantly able to lead armies against warlords and entities of great evil, beloved by their people, and ruling fairly with a swift eye, a soft and just heart, and a harsh sword against invaders.  While he was just…a Baggins of Bag End.

                And without a scrap of food left in the pantry.  Imagine!  Having royalty visit your home without being able to serve him a decent meal!

                Lion-O wondered if it was not too much trouble to go running back to the Green Dragon and beg Barmy to buy some food off his stores for the breakfast shift.

                “So.  **This** is the Hobbit…” Thorin said in a rather dismissive tone before his eyes rested on Lion-O and blinked, taken aback.  Though thankfully, to Thorin’s credit, he did not back away in fear or caution like most of the other Shire residents had done in the past.

                “Although Gandalf has failed to mention you,” Thorin murmured, narrowing his eyes in confusion, “You are certainly not one of the Gentle-Folk.”

                Lion-O sputtered a bit, a bit surprised and incredibly tongue-tied.  How was he supposed to respond to that?

                Bilbo stepped forward and was about to introduce himself and Lion-O, as proper Hobbit etiquette dictates, when Thorin then rudely butted in, asking if the Hobbit dealt with a sword or an axe.  Flushing and a bit bothered, Bilbo answered truthfully that he really preferred conkers.  Lion-O wasn’t sure if this Thorin even knew how to play (although to be fair, it was a rather addicting game).

                Thorin’s face grew rather pretentious as he contemptuously sniffed, turning his large nose upwards at Bilbo, “I thought as much.  He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”

                Lion-O then felt his temper rise and flare precariously.  King or not, if there was ever one thing the furry teenager could **_never_** abide by, it was insults towards his father.  Suddenly, the furry Thunderian was less concerned about how to introduce himself and more concerned about introducing Thorin to the door (or nearest wall).  Bilbo, sensing the danger, tried to placate his son by getting in front of Lion-O.

                “Son, don’t - !” was all Bilbo could manage to get out before Lion-O, hackles rising, circumvented his father and strode forward.  Lion-O reached out to grab Thorin by the collar of his fur coat and toss him out of their home.

                Or Lion-O would have.

                Except the sword Thorin drew out and placed directly at Lion-O’s neck stopped the teenager from advancing any further.  Eyes wide and gulping, Lion-O held his hands up in a submissive manner and backed away slowly from the iron and steel saber, the blade covered with copper runes.  It happened so fast that the teenager was taken completely by surprise; he couldn’t even recall seeing Thorin draw out his instrument in the first place.  Strangely enough, if it wasn’t so precariously close to taking his head off, Lion-O would have been in awe at the meticulous and exquisite workmanship of the weapon. 

                “ _Whiskers…_ ” cursed Lion-O, his eyes crossing slightly as he stared at the sharp metal edges being inches away from severing his jugular, a sure kill.  It was now evident that this Thorin was a **very** seasoned and effective warrior.

                Thorin raised an eyebrow in slight puzzlement, not sure what to make of Lion-O’s one-word response.

                 The Dwarf with the white hair and white beard (Balin, if Lion-O remembered correctly) walked forward solemnly and chastised gently, “Thorin, stop.  We are guests in their house.  Please put the sword down for it is rather churlish to draw a weapon against our host.”

                “Not until this… _thing_ keeps its distance,” Thorin rumbled lowly, refusing to let down his guard and wariness as he kept his tarnished sword pointed out at Lion-O’s throat.  Bilbo wasn’t sure what made him angrier: the way that Thorin called Lion-O a “thing” or how he was still refusing to cease and desist in his threat against someone who had never fought with a sword in his life.

                Frowning and his nostrils white with anger, Bilbo quickly pushed Lion-O behind him as the Hobbit then addressed his newest guest.

                “That is enough,” Bilbo said in a hard voice, glaring directly into Thorin’s eyes and not caring if Thorin’s broadsword was inches from his face, “If you will not sheathe your weapon, you can leave my house and never return to darken it.”

                “I was merely defending myself, Halfling!” snapped Thorin, lowering his cutlass a bit in mulish reluctance.

                “Against an unarmed and gentle Hobbit from the Shire?  Who was merely standing up for you insulting me in my own home?  Oh, then by all means, you truly do have a reason to feel like you are in danger if my son is an equal match against _your_ skills,” Bilbo said with a tinge of mockery.  For some odd reason, even though Bilbo was not even raising his voice, his disparagement was truly infuriating Thorin as the Dwarf King’s voice became pure snow, cold and blank.

                “That thing is no Hobbit, Halfling.  He is not only taller than you, but I do not recall Shire-folk having fur and claws.”

                “ **He’s my son.**   He’s as good as any Hobbit,” Bilbo said, steel underneath his calm façade.

                “I never would have guessed such a soft grocer would be in the habit of picking up strays.”

                “Why, certainly.  After all, that is why I allow you here, _your Majesty_.”

                They were now staring at each other at a stand-off, almost nose to nose, and despite Thorin being a good foot taller than Bilbo, neither the Hobbit nor the Dwarf were giving in, glaring hotly and their faces crimson for various reasons.

                Balin sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, murmuring, “We are going to be kicked out within the next hour.”

                “At least we had a good dinner,” Nori quipped as he chewed thoughtfully on a leftover pork sausage.  Dori nodded until he stopped and raised one eyebrow at his younger brother, immediately suspecting and catching on to the easy-going tone of Nori’s voice.   _Too_ easy-going.

                “Put it back, Nori,” Dori lectured, not in the mood for any argument.  Nori made a wounded face.

                “I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about,” Nori said, hurt.

                “ ** _Now._** ”

                There were several tense moments before Nori, now disgruntled, took out the two shiny, copper candlesticks out of one of the hidden pockets in his sleeves and placed it back on one of Bilbo’s dressers.

                Meanwhile, Lion-O, a bit fearful that Thorin was going to turn his sword on his father, stepped forward and tried to break the tension, getting everyone’s attention.

                “Father, Thorin has a point.  I was going to throw him out, and he reacted like any warrior in danger would.  I was in the wrong, especially since Gandalf invited these Dwarves here.  Let us simply try to start over with introductions again,” the teenager requested.  Forget trying to be assertive: anything to prevent bloodshed was preferable, even if Lion-O had to admit to something that was not of his fault.  Thorin smirked, satisfied at being in the right while Bilbo, though reluctant, nodded and gave in.  Unfortunately, due to the adrenaline and his nervousness, Lion-O made another verbal stumble.

                “Lion-O Boggins, at your – confound it, Fíli and Kíli!” groaned Lion-O as he covered his face with one hand, feeling his cheeks flush as the snickering from the background intensified.

                Thorin Oakenshield’s stern expression was clearly not amused.  If anything, he seemed even more unimpressed.

                So much for making a good first reception.  By Yavanna, this entire night was a complete disaster.  Bilbo rolled his eyes with a tired sigh before he briskly made introductions.

                “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.  This is my son, Lion-O Baggins, also at your service.”

                Thorin nodded at them both, but much to Bilbo’s frustration, he did not return the greeting verbally or the offer for his service likewise.  Of all the conceited, overbearing, rude - !

                Balin then smoothly joined in before there could be any further arguments.

                “Let us all have some dinner.  You can tell us how your meeting with the Dwarf Lords went once we get some food in you, Thorin.”

                Thorin looked incredibly relieved as he set down his pack, murmuring, “That would be most welcome.  I have not eaten since yesterday.”

                Bilbo had to admit that his outrage lessened a bit when he heard that, and Lion-O was a bit concerned.  Lion-O nodded as he rubbed his father’s shoulder.

                “I’ll take care of it.  Go with Gandalf,” Lion-O murmured as he made his way to the kitchen.  Unfortunately for Thorin, there wasn’t really much food left.  The vegetable soup that Lion-O managed to scrounge up with Bilbo’s earlier meal had only a small pittance leftover, barely suitable for a child.  Thorin wasn’t going to have much to eat, but it was evident that he could really use a good…

                Lion-O blinked.

                Within a few minutes, Lion-O politely set down a steaming bowl of vegetable soup and a sandwich (re-heated in the oven) in front of the Dwarf leader.

                “Here, Thorin,” Lion-O murmured as he placed the meal in front of the sable-haired Dwarf, “I hope you like bacon and mushrooms.  I’ll see if there’s any ale leftover and bring you a tankard.”

                Bilbo gave Lion-O an unreadable look, his forehead raised, but thankfully, the Hobbit said nothing.  Thorin’s face seemed a bit less harsh upon sight of the food, but his voice was still hard as he uttered his response.

                “My thanks, Young Baggins.  But I must insist that you do not refer to me by my name.”

                Lion-O blinked in confusion before he hesitantly pointed out, “But…it’s your name.”

                “You have neither the permission nor the privilege to refer to me as such.  You are neither a close friend nor kin.  Please respect my wishes and refer to me properly as you normally do with your elders.”

                Lion-O looked put-off, but he realized that the other Dwarves were staring at him, and both Kíli and Fíli were looking a bit uncomfortable, as if they were embarrassed.  Dwalin, however, like a true guard and protector, stood tensely next to the seated Thorin with his legs braced apart, as if ready to intervene.

                The Thunderian then exhaled wearily.  The last thing Bag End needed right now was a fight…

                “Very well, then.  My apologies… _Master Oakenshield_.”

                If there was a little bit of resentment in that address, no one commented on it.

                “Accepted.”

                Lion-O now wished he didn’t give Thorin the blasted sandwich as he bad-naturedly turned and strode to find something to drink, praying that when he returned, he wouldn’t be tempted to toss the ale directly into Thorin’s face.

                Bilbo was now glaring at Thorin, his nose and ears turning pink.

                “I daresay that being a King should not excuse you from having manners or common decency,” Bilbo commented in a clipped tone.

                “Manners and decency do not get you anywhere in life, Master Halfling,” Thorin returned, chewing all the meanwhile and with his mouth full.  Bilbo grimaced.

                “Clearly, from the way I can see the masticated sandwich,” Bilbo highlighted, “I merely thought that perhaps Dwarves such as yourselves would appreciate a stranger treating you with respect and being appreciative enough to show the same respect in return.”

                “I have not had much experience with strangers showing my family respect, unlike you soft Hobbits.”

                “Imagine that,” Bilbo returned flatly.

                As Thorin ate and drank his fill, both Lion-O and Bilbo learned from the rest of the Company about Erebor, an ancient Dwarvish kingdom far west within a grand peak called the Lonely Mountain, brutally taken over by the dragon named Smaug due to the entire palace filled to the brim with gold, jewels, and precious metals and stone architecture.  The dragon invaded the kingdom and destroyed the nearby city of Dale, a prosperous citadel of Men where trade, riches, and culture thrived next to the wealthy domain.  So attracted and heavily laden with greed, the wyrm desecrated both monuments in a single day, bringing fire and death to innocents and forcing Thorin and his kin to become penniless wanderers and vagabonds, scraping by with minimum wages for food and shelter.

                Bilbo had to admit that he could feel quite sorry for the Dwarves, while several such as Gandalf, Balin, and Glóin enjoyed how Lion-O’s eyes were shining with wonder and amazement at the stories.

                A journey and noble pilgrimage to reclaim a long-lost forgotten empire.  It was like something from a fairy tale, only far more exciting because it was being discussed here in Bag End.  Imagine!  The Took children were going to be **_so_** jealous of Lion-O when he tells them of their Dwarf visitors tomorrow!

                Thorin then sadly informed them that the Dwarven Lords from the neighboring kingdoms refused to send help.  Balin noted that the signs of birds and ravens making their way back to the West were signs of hope that Mahal himself was announcing that Durin’s blood should start taking back what was stolen from them.  Regrettably, the Dwarven Lords declared Thorin’s mission to restore the Lonely Mountain as hopeless, still fearful and wary of Smaug even after sixty years.  Intrepid, Thorin spoke with pride, glancing at each and every one of the twelve other Dwarves in the dining room before giving his words of encouragement, pride, and hope.

                “I will take each and every one of these Dwarves in this Hobbit hole over an army from the Iron Hills.  For when I called upon my kin and folk, you came.  Loyalty.  Honor.  A willing heart.  I can ask no more than that.  From any of you.  And I am proud of that.”

                Even Bilbo felt a little moved when he heard that (and Lion-O could see all the eyes of the Company shining with inspiration as they stood a bit taller, their heads held a bit higher with noble cause).

                Then Gandalf revealed he had a strange and clandestine key and map bequeathed to himself for safekeeping by Thráin (Thorin’s father) before his disappearance, indicating that there was another way to gain entrance to Erebor via a secret passageway.  Lion-O blinked as the other Dwarves were immediately excited by the optimistic prospect of triumph, their faith building higher and higher as they clamored excitedly.

                “Wait,” Lion-O asked, “Why is it you Dwarves cannot simply enter through the front gates to the kingdom when you arrive to Erebor?”

                Dwalin (and a few others) looked at Lion-O with disparagement as Dwalin barked out, “Are you deaf, lad?!  My brother said that the front gates were locked and sealed in from the inside since the siege of Smaug!  And nothing can break a good Dwarvish lock.  No magic or blade can ever make their way through our quality handiwork.  **_Nothing!_** ”

                “Except perhaps a dragon,” falsely coughed Nori, preening smugly when Dwalin threw the Dwarf thief a murderous glare.

                Sensing the embarrassment by Lion-O’s abashed face, Balin then softened Dwalin’s earlier outburst by pointing out, “Laddie, we are merely a Company of thirteen.  Secrecy and subtlety is vital for this mission.  Smaug devastated the entire Ereborian army, a force made of thousands of Dwarves with weaponry in a stronghold, and laid waste to our kingdom in a matter of hours.  Using the same tactic of direct force and challenge will not work a second time.  Hence, a different approach is needed.”

                “Well, we number thirteen _now_ , but we will soon be fourteen now that we have our burglar, do we not?” chimed in Bombur, looking at Lion-O.

                “ ** _Burglar?_** ” the furry teenager repeated incredulously as Lion-O blinked when he and Bilbo then noticed all the expectant and pleased looks from their guests.  Wait, was this what Nori meant earlier when he said - ?

                “He can see in the dark!  He helped find Óin’s ear trumpet!  And he’s good friends with Gandalf, so Tharkûn already approves and trusts him!  Lion-O will make a wonderful burglar!” cheered Ori, bringing looks of interest from Kíli, Fíli, and Balin, sending Lion-O to new levels of shock, woe, and despair at once.  Bilbo sputtered indignantly as the Dwarves then joined in rambunctiously with cheers and hearty welcomes.

                “Now – now, see – now see here…I beg your pardon!” the patriarch squeaked in a high-pitched and strangled voice, still befuddled.

                Gandalf raised an eyebrow as he intoned, “Young Ori, you are mistaken.  I **_never_** said that it was Lion-O to be the Company’s Burglar, although I certainly am hoping that he too shall join the quest.  It is his father, _Bilbo Baggins_ , who is to be the one to fulfill the role.”

                This immediately drew an overwhelming uproar, with a good number of the Dwarves either protesting or making loud exclamations of surprise.  Thorin, however, remained silent, although Bilbo did not miss the skeptical look he gave as he glanced at the Hobbit.

                Lion-O and Bilbo had to wince at the surprising intensity of the sudden shouting, though it was _nothing_ compared to the intensity and power of Gandalf’s voice, using his magic to send his tone ripping into their hearts and souls.  Sometimes, Lion-O and Bilbo had forgotten that Gandalf could actually be quite scary and menacing when he wanted to be.

                Everyone, Dwarf, Hobbit, and Thunderian, could almost imagine the vibrations of the wizard’s deep timbre vibrating in the marrow of their bones as he then irately explained his rationale for selecting Bilbo Baggins as the perfect candidate to steal treasure from Smaug.  Not only could Hobbits sneak in and out and move with such grace and swift-footedness, they could easily escape detection.  Plus, Smaug was not to be underestimated as a fool; he knew and recognized the smell of Dwarf and Men well, but the scent of a Hobbit, a resident from the Shire, would be unknown to him, which would give them a distinct advantage.

                Bilbo decided to not interrupt with the fact that he had never stolen anything before in his entire life; he really did not like the stern look on Gandalf’s face.

                Upon hearing this, quite a few of the Company of Dwarves nodded to themselves, seeing the logic of Gandalf’s choice.  Thorin (and a few others) remained unconvinced.

                Thorin then spoke lowly with suspicion, “That very well may be, Tharkûn.  But that explains briefly why we need a _Hobbit_.  That does not explain why we need the Halfling’s…housecat.”

                Bilbo and Lion-O frowned, but before Bilbo could say a heated retort back, the wizard’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

                “Lion-O has visions,” Gandalf said softly with a smile, causing both Bilbo and Lion-O to freeze, their backs erect and extremely nervous.  Bilbo went even so far as rise out of his chair suddenly, causing his seat to topple backwards to the floor due to the abrupt movement.  Not a pleasant mannerism for a respectable Hobbit, but as of that moment, mannerisms were of very little interest to Bilbo as he rounded on Gandalf sternly.

                “That is enough, Gandalf!  I allow you into my home as a courtesy!  That does not give you the right to involve my son in any of your hair-brained schemes or revealing trusted secrets about my family!”

                Thorin and his Company were taken aback, to say the least as they glanced at the furry lion-humanoid.  Out of all the possibilities they could have guessed, a seer was not one of them.  Thorin still seemed displeased, but it seemed that this newest revelation made an impact, for the leader nodded to Balin, his mouth in a tight line.

                “Give the Halfling the contract, and make a separate copy for his son,” the Dwarf King ordered to the wise Balin (who was sitting on Thorin’s right).  The white-haired sage nodded before handing a protesting Bilbo a large piece of folded paper.

                Frozen with shock and unable to just thrust back the offending written agreement, Bilbo’s eyes widened as the folded rectangle of parchment elongated into a scroll of paper that nearly touched the floor.  The Hobbit’s eyes continued to grow bigger and bigger, nearly popping out of their sockets, as the Baggins patriarch read the contract’s terms and depressing fine print.  Mentions of responsibilities, caveat conditions, and a one-fourteenth of the treasure of Erebor paled in comparison to terms and provisos of funeral arrangements, injuries due to lacerations, eviscerations, and incineration…

                “ _Incineration?!_ ”

                Bilbo wondered if perhaps it would be possible to wake up from this never-ending nightmare.  The Dwarf Óin squawked upon Bilbo’s words.

                “‘Penetration’?” echoed the Dwarf, mishearing Bilbo’s shout due to his deaf ear, “I do not know about you, lad, but I can certainly say that isn’t in any of our contracts!”

                Then the hat-toting Bofur couldn’t help but joke about how Smaug was a furnace with wings, melting flesh easily off bone like dew dissolving from the morning grass, and with a poof and a flash of light, Bilbo would be a pile of ash.

                Lion-O was instantly worried as his father’s breathing became hyperventilated, how Bilbo’s face got paler and paler, draining of blood as Bilbo murmured sickly how he needed air…

                “Father, are you all right?” Lion-O asked.

                Bilbo took a deep breath and steadied himself before he gave his honest answer.

                “Nope,” he said lugubriously and toppled over in a faint on the wooden floor.

                It could have gone worse.  Lion-O could take some sort of solace in that.

                Gandalf and Lion-O carried the unconscious Bilbo and set the Hobbit comfortably resting in Bilbo’s favorite easy-chair, next to the roaring fire and with a blanket covering his unconscious, frazzled body.   Afterward, both Gandalf and Lion-O returned to the dining room and sat down with the Dwarves at the wooden table.  Lion-O rubbed his arms, not really enjoying how the other Dwarves were staring inquisitively at him and how Gandalf was not making any effort to start the explanations as he just wordlessly lit his pipe.

                After several slow and agonizing minutes of silence, the Thunderian teenager then decided to ease the tension as he sighed and looked up at the thirteen expectant Dwarves and the Gray Wizard.

                “Master Dwarves…” Lion-O said hesitantly, “I do not know what else Gandalf has told you, but he’s wrong.  I haven’t had any visions since I was a little child.”

                “Don’t you mean ‘kitten’?” snickered Kíli, earning a glare from Lion-O.  Fíli, though he couldn’t help but smile at the joke, nudged his brother in the ribs to silence him from annoying their hosts.  Gandalf didn’t seem bothered by Lion-O’s counter-argument as he puffed away.

                “Am I wrong?  Or perhaps, am I wrong for the moment?” Gandalf sidetracked cryptically.  Lion-O gave an agonized roll of his eyes in response.

                Balin smiled, kind and nonjudgmental, as he asked encouragingly, “Gandalf, Lion-O, exactly how do these visions work?  Please, we are curious to know more about Young Baggins.”

                Gandalf then explained to Thorin and the Company about Lion-O’s sight beyond sight, the exact details of the proposed capabilities of premonition, clairvoyance, and being omnispective, causing the hush of awe and contemplation as the Dwarves (even Thorin) looked at Lion-O with interest.  Lion-O then (with Gandalf’s prodding) told the audience what happened when he was five years of age with the wolves and how he and Bilbo used the vision to stop the packs from attacking Hobbiton.

                Although, Lion-O wasn’t entirely pleased with Gandalf later on in the conversation…

                “ ** _You placed a spell on me?!_** ” exclaimed Lion-O in outrage upon hearing what had been done to him in the past.  The Baggins Ward could not help it.  He was on his feet, gripping the table with his claws as his fur bristled; a few of the Dwarves such as Bofur and Dori were a bit taken aback by the animalistic growls emanating from Lion-O’s larynx.  Gandalf frowned at the rudeness, but he conceded that Lion-O would take it as a violation of some sort.

                “Lion-O, you were far too young to experience such powers and visions.  It would have driven you mad and left you overwhelmed to the point where you would have been mentally and emotionally damaged.  I did it so that you would be able to have peace until you were older and strong enough to handle once you came of age.  Be mad if you must, but realize that I needed to protect you.  That I _wanted_ to protect you.”

                Lion-O bit back his retort, put to shame; he really needed to control his temper…

                “ _How long shall the spell you cast on Lion-O last?_ ” Bifur asked, signing and with having Bombur translate for his brother.

                “As long as it needs to.”

                “Can you _ever_ give a straight answer?” demanded Dwalin, growling underneath his whiskers and beard.

                “Can I?  Certainly.  I just choose not to,” Gandalf said easily, blowing a smoke plume that turned into a dog, wagging its tail.

                “ _Damned wizard_ ,” muttered the Dwarf Guard in Khuzdul.  Gandalf’s reply was, if possible, even **more** irritating.

                “I understood that.”

                Dwalin then gave Gandalf an obscure yet incredibly obscene Dwarvish hand-gesture.

                “I understood **that** too.”

                The priceless look on Dwalin’s red face made Ori giggle, causing Dori to shush his younger brother for his impoliteness.

                “Wait…” Fíli blinked before the realization came to him, “Lion-O, can’t you simply use this…sight beyond sight to see if the dragon is alive, right here and now?”

                “Fíli, I don’t even know how I invoked it in the first place!  I do not know where to start with my…powers!  Ugh, that sounded entirely queer to say.  But to answer your question, Master Fíli, no, I cannot.  I could not control them when I was a child - ”

                “Kitten,” interrupted Kíli, slurping down some ale, and by Yavanna, did Lion-O’s hand ball into a fist, coming close to punching Kíli directly in his big mouth.  He glared at the dark-haired Prince, mouth set into a line as he inhaled sharply, before he continued in a level, but edged tone of voice.

                “And it was only once.  I do not think I could even do what you asked if I wanted to.”

                “And I would not doubt it, either,” Gandalf intoned, “You were blessed with a talent that came from higher powers unknown.  The faculty of sight beyond sight is both a boon and a danger to anyone irresponsible enough to use it for injustice and selfish gains.  If you were meant to have such ability, then you must grow into it, not try to manipulate it to your own whims.  In other words, you cannot use the sight beyond sight.  **Rather, it is the sight beyond sight that uses you**.  Which is why I believe it would be beneficial if you accompany with your father and Thorin on this quest.  Not only would your powers give you a chance to help rectify a past wrong, but I have it on good authority that you may discover the answers about your origins and the forbearers who sired and abandoned you.”

                Lion-O felt his breath catch in his throat as his eyes widened.

                “Sired?” Kíli repeated, confused.

                “He’s adopted.  Bilbo is not Lion-O’s pater,” Dori explained patiently.

                “Oh…” blinked the raven-haired Dwarf, and from the tone of his voice, it was clearly apparent that the thought did not occur to him.  Fíli sheepishly smiled, embarrassed for his brother, while Thorin grimaced at his nephew’s obliviousness.

                “You do not know where you are from?” Glóin asked Lion-O, one bushy eyebrow raised.

                With that, Lion-O briefly went over the story of how he was abandoned as a babe, how he was left at Bilbo’s door with only a note, and how over the years, after failing to discover anything about his heritage or origins, Bilbo adopted Lion-O as his son and raised him for the past eighteen years with no knowledge of the strangers who brought Lion-O to the Shire.

                Gandalf just serenely puffed away at his pipe.

                There was a contemplative silence as the Dwarves pondered over what Lion-O shared.  Ori and Bofur both looked especially sympathetic.

                “Sorry to hear that, laddie,” Bofur said, sincerely squeezing Lion-O’s hand with one of his own, “It would be a hard thing to grow up with.”

                A thought then struck to Lion-O.

                “Actually…” Lion-O murmured as the realization hit him, “Maybe one of you might know!  If you all have lived in Erebor and Ered Luin, then perhaps you’ve come across other people like me or have read stories of something similar!  You have traveled further than I ever have, and you’ve all been to many places and kingdoms!  Surely one of you may have come across other lion people!”

                But to his disappointment, all the Dwarves, even Thorin, shook their heads.

                “We have never seen your kind before, Young Baggins,” Balin noted, “In all my experiences with Erebor and Dale, I have never seen or heard of animal races that could walk upright and talk as if blessed by the Valar.  Both were cities where there was much trade and relations with caravans and various towns all over the northern regions of Middle Earth, but none ever appeared that looked like you.”

                Ori piped up with, “What about Huan the Hound of Valinor or Draugluin of the werewolves?  They were beasts that had the ability to talk when I read about them in the libraries.”

                “Doubtful.  They were the exceptions to the rule due to the Valar’s interventions and only existed in the First Age.  Considering that Lion-O is only eighteen years old, it’s an impossibility that he was born since then.”

                “You are certainly an oddity, laddie,” Óin remarked slowly, “Never before in any of my studies of ailments have ever mentioned a race of Cats that walk and talk like Men.  Being a healer requires me to be knowledgeable and more open-minded about remedies and plants outside my comfort zone and race.  I am aware of many poisons, infections, and diseases from Dwarves, Elves, Men, and even Orcs and several animals.  Yet I daresay you are an unknown variable, unheard of.  The only significant Cat in history was Tevildo, the Prince of Cats, but that would be improbable since you are not a servant of Morgoth.”

                “ _That we know of…_ ” muttered Bifur secretly to Bofur and Bombur in Khuzdul, although Bofur frowned at that accusation.

                Lion-O felt his ears and tail droop in disappointment.

                In a surprising show of thought and sensitivity, Fíli then offered, “Lion-O, do not be glum yet.  We still may be able to help you if you come on our quest.  I’d bet a bag of gold that you will find answers about your mysterious ancestry in the Far Eastern Lands of Rhûn.”

                “ _Why the East?  Very little is known about it.  No record has ever been written of exploration there,_ ” Bifur signed.  Bombur then understood.

                “Because it’s the one place where Lion-O and the Rangers have not tried?  Because if very little is known about it, then it is far more likely that a walking and talking Lion-Man would originate from there, especially if no Elf, Man, or Dwarf has ever witnessed Lion-O’s kind here in Middle Earth?” Bombur asked, his chins wobbling and jiggling as he spoke.

                “Exactly!” cheered Fíli, slamming a hand on the wooden table for emphasis, “And it would be easier for Lion-O to make the journey from Erebor after we reclaim it!  The Mountain’s resources would be the perfect aid!  Not only is Erebor closer to the East than the Shire, but the Ereborian Libraries and Halls of Records are vast and can surpass even the detailed archives of the Elves.  They go back centuries, perhaps eons, and even originating from the First Age with many ancient tomes and books about the lands of Rhûn and our kin who reside in the Orocarni Mountains.  If there’s an answer to what our Master Baggins’ housecat is, it could be found there or within our clans of brothers!”

                Lion-O couldn’t help but feel a smile grace his lips; going far beyond East past the unknown Sea of Rhûn?  This was truly starting to get more and more exciting…

                So much so that he ignored the teasing “housecat” jibe from Fíli.

                “You really think so?”

                “It **_does_** sort of make an odd bit of sense,” Nori mused as he tucked his tongue in his cheek, “The Eastern Lands are far beyond the patrols and trade caravans of Men, so it would coincide with why the Rangers were not able to discover anything about your past.  Very few records know little about what lies beyond the Iron Hills.  But four of the great Dwarven Clans still reside in that region, and we Dwarves keep careful notes and watch over our kin and families.  We may not share with our knowledge outside of our people, but we are certainly open with our brothers and sisters.  If we cannot find anything in Erebor about the possibility of sentient animal races, we certainly may be able to find someone in the Ironfists, Stiffbeards, Blacklocks, and Stonefoots families who **_would_** know.  At the very least, it would broaden your search a bit.  And they will be more inclined to help you if we asked them to on behalf of the Durin family.  If not, they’ll certainly more open to assist you, Young Baggins, if you had a share of Ereborian gold to pay them off with.”

                “However, we would **_only_** be willing to share our knowledge and gold with you if you are deemed a Dwarf-friend or one of the Company,” implied Dwalin gruffly, making it clear that this gracious opportunity was not going to be given freely.

                Lion-O blinked before his face clouded with deep thought.

                “Lion-O, do you wish to come with us on this quest for the Lonely Mountain?  To see sights and lands that you have heard the Rangers describe to you at the Green Dragon by the fireplace?  Would you and your father like to go on **an adventure**?” Gandalf asked with a slight smile, his voice making his last two words sound hushed and sacrosanct, like a rare secret.

                The furry teenager blushed, his face hot underneath his fur, as he hurriedly and awkwardly sputtered, “Oh!  I…I’m sorry, Master Gandalf, but I cannot!  Father wouldn’t be able to make the journey, and I cannot risk his life!  I won’t leave him!  You are asking the wrong family.  He will not wish to come on this adventure, and neither shall I.”

                Thorin rolled his eyes in disdainful contempt at the whiny excuse.

                There was a soft voice that came from the doorway from behind, startling everyone.

                “Lion-O, is this what you want?” Bilbo Baggins asked softly, recovering from his fainting spell and catching up to the serious discussion.  It was clear from the lack of confusion on his face that he had been listening in for a good while.  Yet before Lion-O could hurriedly utter a denial, Bilbo stopped the teenager with a hand, one corner of his mouth turned upward.

                “Perhaps you are wrong when you said I would not want to go on an adventure.”

                Thorin raised an eyebrow in surprise at Bilbo.  He did not expect a soft Hobbit to say that…

                Lion-O, upon hearing this, got even more shame-faced and nervous as he weakly sank in his chair, protesting and gabbing throughout.

                “Father, I can’t!  I….Bag End will be empty, and it would raise a lot of fuss with the neighbors and the Thain if we left!  Lobelia’s always been looking for an excuse to get her hands on our home, and all the other Hobbits will think even less of you than they already do!  Respectable Hobbits do not go on adventures, remember?  Master Gamgee always said that they would make one late for tea!”

                “Lion-O, is this what you want?” Bilbo asked again softly, stepping forward.

                Weakly, Lion-O still protested, looking down at the floorboards and trying to convince himself.

                “We cannot!  It’s foolish!  It’s far too much trouble and danger!  It’s safer to stay here, home and with our friends and family!  I have my job at the Green Dragon, and we have Bag End and everything we could ever want or need!  We’re happy here!  There’s no reason for us to leave!”

                Gently, the Hobbit took Lion-O’s face with his hands and smoothly guided Lion-O’s gaze directly into his hazel eyes, getting his son’s full attention.

                “My son…is this what you want?” Bilbo asked a third time, his voice soft but full of serious emotion.  Lion-O couldn’t answer as he tried to look for any sign of misgivings in Bilbo’s orbs of hazel, but all he saw was acceptance and love in his father’s demeanor.

                There was a jittery stillness for a good moment.

                From the sidelines, the Dwarf Glóin gave a small smile underneath his beard.  As a father, Glóin understood exactly what Bilbo’s motivations were.

                Lion-O hesitated, deep in thought, before he nodded with hope, croaking with building eagerness, “Yes, Father.  It is.  I…I would love to be reunited with my family.  If I can find them.”

                Bilbo smiled warmly, hoping he managed to hide from his son how badly that statement stung inside and stiffened his body a bit.

                Glóin noticed that too, however; and so did Gandalf as the tall wizard stood up and rose from the dining table, cracking his fatigued back.

                “Let us all give the two a bit of privacy,” the wizard suggested meaningfully, and taking the hint, Thorin and the other Dwarves rose from their seats and nosily clambered out of the area and into the living room, the roaring fireplace giving off its comforting glow and heat.

                For several minutes, both Lion-O and Bilbo just remained in the dining room, their foreheads nearly touching as Bilbo stood at his full three feet while Lion-O sat, slouching down in his wooden chair.  Still, Bilbo just continued to fatherly hold his son’s face, smiling, while Lion-O gently grasped his father’s wrists in his furry, clawed hands, contemplative and in deep thought.  A part of him wanted to apologize for desiring something dangerous and foolhardy, a part of him wanted to asked if his father truly wished an adventure or if he was merely saying it for Lion-O’s sake, and a part of him simply could not boil down to what he was feeling to a single emotion.

  
Art done by [Jess Deaton](http://jess-deaton11392.tumblr.com/)

                It was quiet between Bilbo and Lion-O, centered around the unspoken promise that Bilbo would always support Lion-O no matter what and the horrifying terror of not knowing what was going to happen in the future.

                Then the two of them heard Thorin sing.

                “ _Far over the Misty Mountains cold, to dungeons deep and caverns old…_ ”

                Lion-O and Bilbo both looked up, feeling their souls and spirits being carried over by the baritone words.  There was no music, no score of musical instruments like they had previously with the dishes, no uplifting beat and rhythm.  And yet it was so enchanting…

                “ _We must away, ere break of day to find our long forgotten gold._ ”

                No longer did they imagine warm beds, food, and comfort, but rainfall, stone, forges with the smell of ash and metal and red-hot iron.  A mountain of gold and jewels, shining quietly under the torchlight shining under the fabled Arkenstone…

                “ _The pines were roaring on the height, the winds were moaning in the night._ ”

                A breeze fluttered through the chimney, causing the flames in the fireplace of flutter and flicker madly as the night gusts took the embers up to the starlight sky, an endless abyss of black that reminded Lion-O and Bilbo of worlds and lands far beyond Hobbiton…

                “ _The fire was red, it flaming spread, the trees like torches blazed with light._ ”

                An unexpected journey…

                After a few minutes after the song ended, Thorin and his Company along with Gandalf turned to the doorway to see Bilbo and Lion-O standing with conjoined hands.  Bilbo smiled as he gave a request.

                “Can you give us one day to get our belongings and affairs in the Shire settled before we leave?”

                “‘ ** _We_** ’?!” echoed several of the Dwarves in unison, catching on.  Bilbo smirked, raising one eyebrow.

                “I am not letting my son go alone.  I will be your Burglar, and my son will assist you and your Company in any way with his sight beyond sight should he be allowed to accompany me.”

                Balin nodded with a smile.  Thorin stood up and addressed the two newest members of his Company as several cheered in the Baggins’ response, and Bofur, Ori, and Óin all clapped.

                “Sign the proposed contracts, then.  And welcome to Company, Master Baggins and Young Baggins.”

                Lion-O was so excited that he and Bilbo did not notice the flash of displeasure and resignation on the Dwarf King’s face.

                Gandalf just smiled to himself; even though they were not related by blood, the way their eyes sparkled at the urge of adventure in the same manner made it very obvious that Lion-O was Bilbo’s son.

                Although the amusement gave away slightly to the pang of sadness and regret in the wizard’s heart when Lion-O’s earlier words echoed in his head.

                _I would love to be reunited with my family._

                “Not all reunions will be happy,” Gandalf muttered to himself, pretending to not take notice of the two eavesdroppers listening in on their entire conversation in Bag End outside the dining hall window, unnoticed by all the Dwarves.

                As much as he hated this, hated what was sure to come, Gandalf knew that they all needed to play their roles in the mission for Erebor.

                If what Jaga told him was true, there was no escaping it.


	5. An Ill Wind Gathers Speed

Several nights ago…

Hidden in the shadows of the new moon and evening midnight, Azog the Pale Orc was watching the scenic view from the dark cliffs as Bolg and his fellow troops in his battalion returned from their scouting expedition.  Azog’s son dismounted from his Warg steed before he solemnly marched up to his lord and patriarch and knelt down on one bended knee.

“They are making their way East.  They have begun their trek to the villages of the Halflings in the Green Fields,” Bolg stated.

Jaundiced eyes gleaming, Azog growled, “Easy targets, then.  Kill them all, but bring Thorin Durinson to me.”

“I would prefer if you did not,” rasped an unfamiliar and guttural voice from behind the congregation, taking both the Orcs and the Wargs by surprise as none of them (not even the hellish wolves) espied the interruption.  They turned swiftly, snarling, only to go numb and silent with surprise and shock.

Before them, wrapped in a raggedy, threadbare, red cloak and moldy, stained bandages entwined around its entire body and limbs was a decrepit and emaciated figure.  Shriveled hands and clawed feet like a skeleton, glowing and beady eyes as crimson as fresh blood, and the way it was slightly hunched over gave the impression to the soldiers of a withered husk, dry of life.  Azog would have easily guessed that a strong gust of wind would have knocked this stranger down.

Barely a threat to even one of the Men Folk or the aforementioned Halflings.

Still, something wasn’t right.

Not willing to toss caution to the winds, Azog raised his hand and barked out a sharp command to prevent the Orcs from charging mindlessly as he growled to the stranger, “You are fluent in Black Speech, a language that is unknown to even the Elves and only used by the servants of Mordor.  You have managed to catch our Wargs unawares, even with their heightened smell and hearing.  And… _you have seen through our protective spells and glamor_.  Yet you are not an Elf, Dwarf, or Man, and you are certainly not one of the damned Maia of the lands.  Speak and state your business.”

Mumm-Ra was a bit impressed; this Azog wasn’t as stupid and mindless as he appeared to be.

“I have need of your services.  I have my own plans which coincide with your vengeance against the Dwarf you call Thorin ‘Oakenshield’ Durinson.”

The memory of Thorin slicing off his arm at the battle of Moira sent a spike of rage through the Orc leader, threatening to break his resolve and caution.

“We are not paid off by gold or shiny trinkets like common mercenaries, stranger,” growled Azog.  Mumm-Ra’s smile became absolutely bone-chilling, showing all his sharp teeth.

“ _Pay?_ ” echoed the decaying shell, “I do not give anything monetary to my servants.”

Azog’s eyes narrowed at such arrogance as Bolg then roared a command to the Wargs and three Orcs, “ ** _Eviscerate him!_** ”

A small trio of soldiers charged with their rusty axes and swords while five Wargs snarled and pounced towards the shriveled carcass.  It was an inevitable conclusion.

Mumm-Ra’s smile then grew, vicious and cold, as his eyes began the illuminate even more hotly like burning coals.

“You are but insects…” he hissed before he arched back and tossed his head backward.  Convulsing from the spell, Mumm-Ra roared right before his eyes began to flash in a purple light.

Instantly, a sudden wave of pinkish flare burst forth from Mumm-Ra’s chest, causing the Wargs and the Orcs to scream in agony as they were carried away and tossed backwards from the intensity of the magical backlash.  Quite a few of the crowd of onlookers suddenly retreated and sidestepped to get out of the path of the bodies landing solidly on the ground, smoking and stiff with rigor mortis.  The Orcs’ skins was already cracked and blackened, leaking pus and clear fluids as they bubbled and popped, and the metal of their weapons and armor were melted and corroded.  Mumm-Ra’s attack even burned off the Wargs’ fur pelts, leaving the perished cadavers of the wolves to be completely unrecognizable.

Mumm-Ra steadied himself back into an upright position before admiring his handiwork.

That one smirk on his face was enough as Bolg grunted and nodded at the other Orcs, and immediately, several armed with bows instantly loaded their strings with their shafts and fired within a mere second.

Not surprisingly, Mumm-Ra merely deflected the incoming poisoned arrows with a mere flick of his hand, battling them aside effortlessly like dry leaves and leaving them smoldering and useless on the floor.  However, that was exactly the distraction Bolg needed as he and fifteen other powerfully muscled Orcs did a sudden, united rush and tackled Mumm-Ra as one conjoined effort, succeeding finally in taking the mystic by surprise as they crashed and pinned him against the dirt, attempting to crush him.

“ **DIE!** ” snarled several of the Orcs as they furiously and violently stabbed and sunk their daggers, knives, and swords into their opponent, plunging their blades and sharp instruments to the hilt into Mumm-Ra’s bandaged body.

Unfortunately, the Orcs then came to an unwelcome revelation…

“By Morgoth!  He’s still alive!” screeched an Orc in dismayed confusion as their strikes drew no blood, caused little damage as if they were stabbing dirt and paper.  Mumm-Ra chuckled as he was being pinned against the ground, still leering that damned smile.

Undaunted, Bolg rose up on his feet and gripped his sword with both of his hands.

“Hold the insolent wretch down!” Bolg commanded as he shifted his feet, positioning himself next to Mumm-Ra’s head, intent on lopping it off.  The fellow minutemen followed his command, using their heavy weight to immobilize their opponent.

Bolg was intent on ending this once and for all, partly due to the rage and partly due to the miniscule fear of not knowing exactly what he and his father were dealing with.

Azog watched on, ever so slightly apprehensive.

Instead of begging for his life, Mumm-Ra then chanted in a deep and powerful voice so cold and intense that it even caught Azog and the Wargs off-guard.  It was brimming with sheer potency and dark forces…

“ ** _ANCIENT SPIRITS OF EVIL, TRANSFORM THIS DECAYED FORM TO MUMM-RA, THE EVER-LIVING!_** ”

Bolg thankfully was alert and far enough to hastily back away from the sudden upwelling of black magic that encompassed Mumm-Ra’s body, a geyser of shadows and concentrated heat.  The abrupt flow of magic was not only as foreboding and cold as Morgoth’s legacy, but alien and otherworldly, never before displayed or witnessed in all of Middle Earth.

However, though Bolg was able to retreat, the Orcs that were fastening Mumm-Ra on the dirt and stone floor were not as fortunate.  They only had enough time to utter a short scream of surprise before the black magic from the Ancient Spirits of Evil swallowed them whole, disintegrating them within seconds before the Azog and Bolg’s very eyes.

To their horror and alarm, the Pale Orc, his minions, and the Wargs could only watch with their mouths agape as the pillar of black and shining obsidian reached the very skies, rumbling like thunder.  It was a miracle that such a display did not attract the attention of every Man, Elf, Dwarf, and the members of the Istari instantly.

Bolg then grunted a strangled cry as a gigantic and armored clawed hand shot out of the noxious column of darkness.  It was so fast that Azog and the other Orcs barely could discern what was happening.  With a hand-span that easily encompassed Bolg’s head, the Orc had little choice but to let out a stuttered gasp as the clawed fingers gripped around his throat and squeezed mercilessly before lifting the Orc general off the ground.  Bolg could not even fight back or counter-attack; the touch of the dead flesh that was strangling him actually burned like fire but were colder than ice, making his windpipe so frozen it hurt to even breathe.  Leaving the Orc general helpless.

The mist and toxic plume of smoke finally subsided and disappeared, revealing…

For once, Azog was truly taken aback as he peered upwards, with wide eyes and his jaw slightly agape.  There was terror, _real terror_ , coursing through the other Orcs as the Wargs uncharacteristically growled and whined in chaotic dissonance, pawing the ground nervously.

Whatever this Mumm-Ra was, he was not like anything Azog (nor any other servant of Mordor) ever experienced before in Middle Earth since the First Age.  Still, upon seeing the single rivulet of blood dripping from one corner of Bolg’s gasping mouth, the Pale Orc immediately drew out his weapon in defense of his son.

“Release my son,” Azog growled bravely, “And perhaps we can…negotiate.”

Mumm-Ra sneered, “I have absolutely no patience with noncompliance and insubordination.  Your son needs to be made as an example.”

“A scared slave works harder than a dead one.”

“I have many slaves.”

“And yet you come to us.  We cannot be bought with trinkets, but you seem to be willing to offer more than that as if we have some value.  Our loyalties can be compromised if you are as powerful as you have just shown.  **_Why are you here?_** ”

Mumm-Ra’s intrigue was piqued even further as he looked down on the Pale Orc…

Mumm-Ra relinquished his hold on Bolg, causing the Orc to drop over several feet before he crashed against the floor ungracefully, landing on his rump.  It perhaps would have invoked a couple of cruel chuckles from the other Orcs if they were not staring up at the behemoth standing before them in trepidation and alarm.  Azog lowered his sword as he cordially (as much as he could) addressed the mummy.

“What do you wish from us?  Tell us of your business here in our lands, if it be so.”

Mumm-Ra then spoke, his voice deep and baritone, echoing in the cliffside for every Orc and Warg to hear.

“I am a servant of ancient forces and Gods that could easily subjugate your own.  We have plans for this world, ones in which this will reformed and remade into a land much more suitable for our liking.  My display is only a taste of the power I was blessed with, for I have conquered stars, galaxies, and entire systems of your world and killed millions and millions in as easily as a blink of an eye.”

Azog remained silent.  Normally, he would not believe such a boast, but now…

Mumm-Ra continued.

“I have need of an army, a group familiar with and can help identify potential uprisings, enemies, and miscreants who would cause trouble and fight against me in this Middle Earth.  Because I too have the same goal as you: to murder the Dwarf King of Durin’s Blood, Thorin Oakenshield when he reaches Erebor.  However, I need reconnaissance, natives who are familiar with potential pitfalls and meddlers who could cause trouble later for my goals.”

Azog still kept mute, prompting a few confused looks from the other Orcs in his direction.

He could not actually be considering such an unfair offer!

“Thorin Oakenshield will travel with an outcast from my world, the lands where I have originated from.  This outcast is a resident of a race of animals that have been a true thorn in my side for many years.  These animals are not similar to the dumb, mindless beasts you are used to.  They are powerful, formidable, and are quite hardy and excellent combatants,” Mumm-Ra intoned as Slythe, Kaynar, Vultaire, and Addicus stepped forward under the light of the campfires.

This brought a furious round of murmurs and mutterings as the Orcs stared at the alien strangers and animal generals.  Even the Warg steeds stilled, dumbstruck (a rare occurrence, if ever).

“Which raises a valid point, Azog.  These animals that dare to fight and rebel against me have gifts and weapons that have brought me to a standstill.  If this outcast travels with Thorin Oakenshield and will bring forth other members of his damned people that have battled and fought against me for millennia, then what chance do you have to exact your plans against the Durin family and his allies?”

Azog’s eyes narrowed in thought.

“The tides are changing, Azog.  Only those who can adapt and change will be able to survive.  Once Thorin Oakenshield is thoroughly dealt with, I need someone who can subjugate and massacre all the other damned residents of this world who can create trouble for me with their skills and magic.  I have enough slaves with or without your Orcs.  However…”

With that, Mumm-Ra raised a hand and Azog’s decapitated arm began to glow.  Much to the Pale Orc’s surprise, the makeshift rusty hook melted as his severed stump began to grow in its flesh, moving as if alive and forming and building upon itself like glowing, soft clay.  Within a minute, Azog’s stump was magically changed into a new arm of shining metal, glowing red-hot like the sun and iron fresh out of a forge.  The entire appendage was molten and fluid like water, allowing free movement and giving Azog a newfound sensation of clarity and feeling down to the clawed fingertips.  It was as good as his old arm before Thorin chopped it off.

No, scratch that.  In fact, Azog would dare to say that his arm was even **better** than before.

  
Art done by [Jess Deaton](http://jess-deaton11392.tumblr.com/)

“Adding to my reserves is always a welcome change.  Your Orcs, I presume, have been downtrodden and spat upon far too long, given how all the Elves, Men, and wizards of Middle Earth subjugate you to fight over pittance and scraps, with no lands, no kingdom, no power.  Banished to wastelands like Mordor.  And do not try to delude yourself.  Whoever you serve now, whoever your current master is, he does not give much of a damn about you.  Do you honestly expect him to keep whatever promises he made to ensure your kind will persevere?  That he will not abandon you when he finds you no longer useful?”

Bolg, rubbing his injured neck, was befuddled.  Why in the name of the Dark Lord was his father remaining so silent, so contemplative?

By all of Sauron, what was his father doing?!

“I have conquered and destroyed civilizations and planets and worlds, and I desire to spread my vigor and authority to even beyond the boundaries of the infinite, of space and time.  Resigning myself to watch over a backwater planetoid such as this has absolutely no interest in my tastes and goals.  However, once I have finished with this world, I need one who can rule it in my place while I am gone.   ** _All_** of this world.  You will **_still_** be useful once I am finished.”

Azog blinked.  That was actually a good point (if Mumm-Ra could be trusted).

“As I have mentioned, I have many slaves.  But slaves and soldiers who have valuable knowledge of Middle Earth and the Elves, Men, and Dwarves and who are loyal due to having as much to gain and lose as their master?  **That** is immensely valuable, indeed.”

The giant towering over Azog chuckled sadistically.

“You may be servants and peons under me.  There will be no misconception or illusions about that.  But to paraphrase your earlier statement, an Orc who serves under me shall be triumphant over a dead Elf, Man, and Dwarf.  You actually have a better chance of being victorious amongst our side than your current situation with no friends, no allies, and a master whose protection is dwarfed by the Ancient Spirits of Evil.”

There was a tense pause.

“Will you serve me?” Mumm-Ra asked.

“I will work **_with_** you,” clarified Azog, growling.

Bolg shot his father an outraged look of shock.

“Never!  The Necromancer will hear about this!  Our master will make you pay for your insolence and your audacity against our kind!  Smite him, Spirit of Melkor!  Lord of Orcs and Mordor,  punish this fool of an Oliphant!”

“ ** _Punish the infidel!  Smite him!  Smite him, smite him, smite him!  Break and burn this Mumm-Ra’s bones!_** ”

The various growls, screams and even howls (from the Wargs) rose up like a building tide, a chorus of deafening volume, as the cries and prayers for divine intervention rang throughout the night sky and mountains.

Yet after several minutes, the chants died down, dwindling as the precarious seconds ticked by with absolutely nothing happening.  Even Bolg, faithful to the cause, realized that absolutely no one was coming to their aid with dawning horror.

There was a ringing and deathly silence as the Orcs ceased their intonations.

Azog then simply stated, “I beseech that you do not kill them.  All the Orcs and Wargs will be required for your goal if you desire to remain undetected from the damned Maia and their precious kin.”

Mumm-Ra barely gave it a second thought as he crowed his consensus.

“As you said: a scared slave works harder than a dead one.”

Mumm-Ra leered as magic crackled in his hands once again, raising an eyebrow in contemptuous pity at the sea of terrified faces before him.  There were several snakes of maroon-colored lightning flashing amongst the mountains and camp before the screams and howls of agony of Bolg and the other Orcs who protested rang throughout the night.

Azog was stone-faced at his son’s torture.

He was not willing to join in on earning this Mumm-Ra’s wrath.

And the Pale Orc wasn’t oblivious enough to know that he basically traded one master for another.

Still…

Azog could not help but smile as he flexed and twitched the fingers of his new hand, fascinated by the new sensation and the gleaming of the Thundrainum metal and Freezon Crystal.

The Necromancer never did anything like this before.

* * *

Meanwhile, close to the ruins of the abandoned city of Framsburg, where the Grey and Misty Mountains intersected…

“Anything?” a Thunderian guard named Torr asked with interest as Tygra and Lynx-O were hunched over the remnants of Tygra’s laser pistol.  Tygra exhaled wearily as he gave his aching fingers a rest from the umpteenth time of trying to empower his weapon.

“ _Nothing._   No amount of hardware modifications or anything I learned from the Berbils will work.  My laser gun is as good as dead.  Jaga was right when he said that no technology will work on this world.”

“Amazing.  For once, the Head Cleric is actually telling the truth,” muttered Lynx-O under his breath as he crossed his arms irately across his lean chest.  And given the number of dirty looks and distinct grumblings throughout the camp, it was clear Lynx-O wasn’t the only one resentful and bitter towards Jaga…

Tygra bit his lip; he could not deny there was some emotional conflict about this whole thing.

Upon sensing his discomfort, Lynx-O rubbed Tygra’s shoulder soothingly, like a true Uncle.  Tygra smiled, grateful, as he placed his paw over Lynx-O’s and squeezed back.

Wanting to avoid the potential hostility, Torr hurriedly tried to bring up the bright side as he pointed out, “That might be a good thing then.  Being in this Middle Earth might help us after all.”

On seeing the confused looks from the two Thunderian Generals, Torr emphasized his point.

“Think about it: if we can’t use technology here, **_then neither can anyone else_**.”

“Which…means Mumm-Ra can’t use it here either.  We’ll be in more of an even playing field if we stay here!  We could escape Third Earth altogether!  Mumm-Ra and his army can’t overwhelm us again!  We could take our people and live here via exodus!  A new settlement, a new home!” Tygra exclaimed loudly, and this exclamation was overheard by many of the Cat soldiers in the campgrounds.

This actually brought forth a wave of excited chatter.

“We actually could!  And not have to worry about Lizards or those damned tanks and missiles and aircrafts!”

“It **_is_** peaceful.  Willa and the other Amazon Cats just reported that the nearby rivers are clean and pure, plentiful and full of fish.  Enough to feed us for several weeks if we dry and ration it.”

“It’s also not barren.  Viragor said that the soil is fertile enough and that there are several edible plants and fruit.”

“Our families and children would be safer here!”

“We could rebuild Thundera!”

“ ** _With what?!_** ” snapped a lieutenant named Bobcat as he pointed out, “We have few supplies, little tools to spare, and no money or any form of useful currency to trade with the locals!”

That one piece of logic brought the sudden surge of hope down to a crashing halt.  It was soul-crushing to say the least, seeing a rare ray of light flying out of one’s reach.

In the interim at the far side of the camp, King Claudus was finishing his status reports with General Grune and Jaga (who was looking a bit resigned and weary).

“How are the cloaking spells?” the King Claudus asked gruffly.

“They have fully encompassed our entire campgrounds.  But, your Majesty - ”

“And how fare your Clerics?” continued the Cat sovereign.

Jaga sighed with a twinge of impatience before he continued in a cordial tone, “The wooden staffs that Viragor has bequeathed them all work wonderfully, perhaps even better than they have before back in Third Earth.  Viragor suspects that it is most likely due to the heavy magical energies encompassing this world.  They have already begun their circuits and rounds with the other soldiers.”

“Any sightings?”

“None.  There are no settlements or cities anywhere close to our location; our initial guess of this area being abandoned have been correct, and no traces of civilization have been discovered for miles within our position.  We are secure with little chance of discovery.  However, I suggest  - ”

“That’s enough, Cleric,” growled Grune in response, the Sabertooth’s single tooth gleaming in the moonlight, “It’s your fault we’re in this mess to begin with!  Instead of trying to make friends with these savages, we should have just grabbed that little accident, damn whatever casualties and damage that comes our way!”

“It would cause innocent deaths and suffering, General Grune.”

If there was any resentment and frustration in Jaga’s voice, the elderly Cat hid it well, his face maintaining its gentle and solemn expression.  Grune’s voice got even more mockingly disdainful.

“Like how many innocent Cats died since the fall of Thundera?”

“And bring unwanted attention that may lead to more warfare and undesired antagonists, both of which we do **not** need.  That is enough, Grune.  Reconnaissance is vital here when we’re in a strange, new world, and I have faith in the skills of the two I sent to hide away, undetected.”

The brawny Sabertooth continued to protest, “You should have sent Tygra, your Majesty!  He can spy and gain intelligence like the best of them!”

“I thank you for your input, General, but my decision has been made.  We wait for their return before we attempt on our next plan.”

Jaga then tried again as he spoke, “Your Majesty, we should at least consider talking to - ”

“ ** _Can it, Cleric!_**   You expect us to trust the word of you and your ‘special friend’ about the little monster that killed our graceful Queen, rest her soul?!  Now that I think about it, how can we even be sure that the little bastard even _has_ sight beyond sight?!  How can we even be sure he’s gifted?!  You have a lot of nerve to be concerned over that unwanted runt than your people, you hypocrite!” Grune barked.

Jaga’s face was calm and blank, but from the way his fingers were tightening around his staff in a white-knuckled grip as they made a soft creaking noise…

Behind them, quite a few of the other Thunderian soldiers were also voicing their discontent and complaints.

“General Grune has a point.  I’m actually mad too…”

“It’s really not fair that the spoiled Lion-O got to live while we suffered.”

“It makes no difference.  We all know who the true Prince of Thundera is.  I’ll follow Tygra anywhere and fight alongside him against Mumm-Ra if it comes down to it.”

“Jaga should have told us sooner, just like the Tower of Omens and the Book.”

“Do you think someone should keep an eye on him?  He could be working against us.”

“Leave Jaga alone.  That is a baseless accusation.”

“Figures **_you’d_** defend him.”

“Hey, shut your mouth, Bobcat!”

“Don’t tell _me_ to shut up, your Highness!  Everyone else is thinking the same thing!  If your Cleric can’t get her head out of her - !”

“You shut your mouth, Lieutenant!  **_That’s an order!_** ”

“From the way things are going, you may not be in a position to give orders for long!  Not enjoying the sudden development of being ‘second-best’, Prince Tygra?!”

“ _Why you - !_ ”

“Should we stop them?”

“Why?  Ancient Spirits above only know how much we need to let out some steam…”

“ **Stop this!**   We’re not making things any better!”

“Oh, so **now** you actually shown concern, Jaga?!”

“ ** _ENOUGH!_** ”

This one word was actually bellowed loudly enough to echo in the hills surrounding the Cats’ camp.  There was a sudden silence as all heads turned to the fuming lion king (with Tygra and Lieutenant Bobcat frozen in mid-grapple at Claudus’ roar, Bobcat’s elbow at Tygra’s throat and Tygra’s arm cocked back with a fist as they paused from wrestling on the floor).  It was clear that Claudus was not pleased to be here at this current situation with its fateful events, but due to his reddening face, narrowed and dilated eyes, and clenched teeth, the possible in-fighting was **not** helping.

And Tygra’s stomach sunk at the look of disappointment on his father’s face as he glared at the Prince wordlessly, making the tiger feel like he was a mere child again.

“ **We shall wait here until we have further knowledge.  Get back to your posts quietly and make sure we have not attracted any unwanted attention with this foolishness…** ” growled King Claudus forcefully.

That put an end to all of the disagreements as everyone dispersed and went to their duties.

Still, some such as Grune were prudent enough to grumble under their breath as he stomped away, clearly not willing to let it go.  The brawny Cat knelt down next to Tygra as he busied himself with making the campfires.

“Who knows what else Jaga has hidden from us?” Grune whispered to his protégé as he finally managed to start a small blaze of comforting warmth, the twigs and tinder crackling and catching flame.

Tygra did not answer, but he frowned to himself…

* * *

“Oh dear…” was all Radagast could utter, more terrified and apprehensive than he cared to admit as the rumbling throughout Dol Goldur lessened to a dull humming.

The cancerous magic blighting Radagast’s saplings and trees in his treasured forests?

That was bad.

His animal companions and friends dropping and rotting into blackened, unnatural corpses in mere seconds, and his dear Sebastian nearly following suit?

That was bad too.

His home being ransacked by the relentless and viciously savage spiders and kin of Ungoliant and nearly getting devoured alive?

No, Radagast was not going to admit to anyone (not even Gandalf) that he actually soiled himself on those few minutes of terror.

And now, within seeing the crumbling, black citadel in his sights and sensing the dark magic being restless and agitated, like the deceptive calm right before the crushing force of an incoming typhoon or tsunami?

Radagast wondered if it was too late to take all his animals out of the forest and abscond for somewhere safer, far, **_far_** away from Dol Goldur.

Already, the magic, though subsided, gave off the impeding feeling of something waiting to bubble and erupt, like the calm before a volcanic eruption or the way the sea deceptively receded right before the crushing tsunami.

It was waiting.  For something.  Though Radagast has no idea what.

So why investigate the fortress where the spiders were originating from?

Why step right into the den of the proverbial lion and insert his own head into said lion’s mouth?

The Brown Wizard of the Middle Earth was certainly not going to do investigate like a complete fool, a blundering dunce, and a reckless adventurer, risking his life and well-being.

Wouldn’t even consider it.

Absolutely not.

Completely out of the question.

Sighing and giving a resigned whimper, Radagast forced himself to inch forward, one step at a time, towards the haunted and menacing ruins of the dark fortress where the Necromancer resided…

* * *

“Oh dear…” muttered Lion-O Baggins to himself as he looked at his bulging knapsack, “I might need _two_ knapsacks for this quest.”

It was a conundrum.

It was mere minutes after sunrise, and yet Lion-O was more awake and excited than he had ever been before in his entire life.  Not even the mornings of his birthday would generate so much excitement.  Despite barely sleeping the night before, the furry Cat was fidgety and truly excited enough to burst as he painstakingly packed for his journey.

Pajamas, bedroll, a pillow, two water canteens, rope, undergarments, handkerchiefs, shirts, pants, suspenders, comb, scissors, sewing kit, tea bags, mug, kettle, mittens, gloves, a collection of his favorite fairy tales, bandages, medicinal herbs for the sniffles and nasty stomach bugs, a quill, ink, and parchment, extra blankets…

And he was only three quarters through the list Bilbo provided for him to prepare for the journey for the next several months.

Lion-O wondered if perhaps he could ask Barmy if he had a larger knapsack when he completed his work shift later tonight.

His **final** work shift.  Lion-O couldn’t help but pause and stare off into space when he pondered how he and his father were traipsing into the unknown, where (as Gandalf told them last night) nothing would ever be the same for them.  And if Gandalf’s promise came true that Lion-O would find his biological family…?

There was a sudden movement as Glóin, Dori, Nori, Bofur, and Óin all entered his room in a flurry of activity, causing the furry teenager to yelp with surprise as his tail perked upward into the air, the tuft at the end puffing in alarm.

“Lion-O, what are you doing, laddie?” Bofur queried as he and the other Dwarves crowded and snooped around the lion’s bedroom.

“Don’t any of you Dwarves _knock_ before entering?!” demanded Lion-O, partly indignant at the rude arrival and partly for the lack of manners.  Nori the Dwarf thief leered.

“Now why would we do something useless like that?”

Lion-O was extremely thankful that he wasn’t naked or changing clothes when Thorin’s Company barged in.  Then a thought struck him on the possibility why the Dwarves were bothering him this early.

“Please tell me that the bathroom and toilet does not need cleaning again!” moaned Lion-O, remembering how much of a smelly and disgusting mess both he and Bilbo found their plumbing last night.  Though Lion-O willingly volunteered to clean up the various messes so that his father would be spared of the disgusting task, afterwards, Lion-O took two baths with all the hot water he could boil and scrubbed his hands, fur, and skin nearly raw with soap to even feel vaguely clean.

Dori understandably shook his head in sympathy, clucking.

“No, your father wanted to let you know breakfast is ready.”

Lion-O smiled with relief.  He _was_ starving now that he thought about it…

Bofur, Óin, and Glóin meanwhile were looking at Lion-O’s backpack with disbelief.  Glóin himself was looking at the list that Bilbo made for his son with one raised eyebrow.

“Are you trying to take your entire room with you, Young Baggins?” Óin asked.

“No, just everything on my father’s list,” Lion-O replied.

“ _Lift?_ ” echoed Óin, clearing mishearing Lion-O’s last word as he held up his ear trumpet, “You won’t be to lift with such a gigantic pack, much less carry and run with it.”

Glóin then fatherly and kindly emphasized, “Young Lion-O, you do not need all these items.”

Lion-O blinked before he stubbornly tried to argue, like most teenagers.

“But...surely you must jest, Master Glóin!” Lion-O protested, “All the things are necessary for a respectable Hobbit!  And Father says it is better to be prepared and anticipate anything for this quest!”

“No, you don’t,” Glóin returned, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m quite sure that I do.”

“No, you do not,” emphasized the burly Dwarf gruffly.

“ _I do._ ”

“ ** _You don’t._** ”

“Master Glóin, I…appreciate the advice, but I’m willing to say that my Father knows better.”

Instead of losing his temper and getting into an argument with the typical arrogance of youth, Glóin’s eyes then twinkled sagely as his bushy beard hid the smirk dancing across his face.

“All right then, Young Baggins.  Do me a favor and seal your knapsack before carrying it on your back.  Please, show this Dwarf how I underestimated you.”

With some difficulty, Bofur, Glóin, and Lion-O managed to close his close-to-bursting satchel before Lion-O tried lifting the large and overstuffed rucksack onto his back.  He blinked as he stumbled a bit backwards, surprised at how heavy his luggage was (much to the audience’s smug amusement).  Still, it was nothing he couldn’t handle as Lion-O stubbornly refused to admit that his gear was heftier than he anticipated.

“See?” crowed Lion-O, feeling triumphant as he stood up straight, ignoring the burning strain on his shoulders.

The other Dwarves appeared to be unimpressed as Bofur then pointed out a minor detail.

“I thought you just said that you had not finished packing yet, lad.  So, wouldn’t there be _more_ items you desire to take with you on top of your _already_ heavy luggage?”

Lion-O blinked before he felt his face grow hot as he stubbornly retorted, “I can carry them.”

Nori then chimed in as he highlighted, “Ah, but then what happens when we need to unpack and pack in a hurry?  Sometimes, when we’re in danger or need to leave in a hurry, think you can easily carry all of these items in a pursuit?  Bandits, robbers, and various other…unscrupulous characters will pose a danger on the journey, and to them, a bulging and heavily laden traveler means easy prey and a possible target for excellent bounty.  The larger the rucksack, the more chance they would find something valuable for their ill-gotten gains.  Are you willing to put your dear old Father at risk because you want to bring all this treasure?”

Lion-O paused.  He didn’t even realize that possibility…

Dori gave his brother a disapproving and suspicious side look out of the corner of his eyes as he grumbled, “I do **not** wish to know how you know that.”

Instead of being offended, Nori preened as he bragged, “I’m an expert.”

Dori glared before he softened his face and then pointed out to Lion-O, “And what if we’re trekking across mountains, hills, or even need to climb over vast obstacles and rough terrain?”

“ _Trekking?_ ” repeated Lion-O incredulously, now feeling more uncertain, “I…I thought we were going to use ponies.”

“There is a possibility that we may have to travel to areas where the ponies cannot go.  If there is a narrow path amongst the mountains or if your horse dies or is injured and we have to leave it behind, then you have to walk.  Tell me, Lion-O: can you managed to hike an entire day’s worth of walking with something that heavy strapped to your back?  Or scale up a rock wall?  Or cross a boggy marsh of quicksand?  We would probably have little time for rest, so chances are, you would be asked to do so without a break.  And if you place it on another pony, then you would be giving someone else the burden to carry your supplies.  And each Dwarf has his own provisions to worry about.”

“Uh…well…” stalled Lion-O, undecided.

Bofur then smirked as he asked rhetorically, “Lion-O, would your father want you to argue with us, the Dwarves who are being gracious enough to hire the both of you to aid us on our quest and who are willing to assist you in discovering your family?  Would a Gentle-Hobbit as yourself be willing jeopardize our journey and our lives just because he wants to prove he’s right?  Endanger your own father even?”

At this, Lion-O felt a little embarrassed as he silently set down his knapsack.  As much as he wanted to continue to protest, as much as he wanted to disagree…

Glóin chuckled at the reluctant expression on Lion-O’s face as he playfully poked the furry Thunderian in the ribs, getting Lion-O’s attention as he offered, “Ah, you’re no different from any other Dwarfling I’ve encountered with, Young Baggins!  Tell you what: I’ll help you lessen your items and pack only the bare necessities on your knapsack, all right?  We’ll make a proper Dwarf out of you yet!”

“I’m not a Dwarf,” protested Lion-O, but he did it with a hesitant smile.  With an afterthought, Lion-O glanced down at the floor, a bit abashed.

“My apologies for my rudeness, Master Glóin.”

“He’s thinks **that** was rude?” whispered Nori gleefully, “Oh, we’re going to have such fun breaking him and his dear old father!”

Dori glared at his brother disapprovingly.

Glóin obviously was not offended in the least as he sat down on Lion-O’s bed, chuckling, dragging down the furry teenager with him.

“Ah, apology accepted, you young scamp!  And trust me when I say that I am not offended!  Mahal knows how much it is nice to teach a youngling since Gimli was not allowed to accompany us on this journey!” Glóin said as he draped a thick arm around Lion-O’s neck.

Lion-O blinked, racking his brain, before he remembered why the name Gimli sounded familiar to him.

“ _Gimli?_   You mean your son?  What’s he like?”

Unfortunately for Lion-O, he had just opened the floodgates to Hell with that one innocent question.

The other Dwarves had their eyes widen slightly at the red flag of Glóin’s eyes becoming dreamy and vacant before they did an about face and made weak and harried excuses.

“I’ll be right there, Ori!”

“I should go take inventory of my medicines!  Mahal only knows how much time that will require!”

“I should see if Master Baggins needs help with breakfast!”

“Oh by Mahal!  I have a tear in my cloak!  I need to find a needle and thread, posthaste!”

The four Dwarves could not leave quickly enough as they hurriedly rushed out of Lion-O’s bedroom and slammed the door.

Glóin actually did not take any notice as he roughly clapped Lion-O on the back and started to laugh, roaring.  He took off his golden locket around his neck before opening it and handing it to Lion-O.  The furry Cat looked to see the sketched, charcoal images of a Dwarf dame (surprisingly with a small beard) and a younger Dwarf child within the jewelry piece.

“Ah, you’d be a fine companion for my son, Gimli!  He’d be intrigued by your presence and challenge you to a friendly spar!  He’s a growing lad of sixty four, but by Mahal, he’ll be a hero someday!  I can feel it in my blood!  Take a good look at his picture!  Isn’t he the splitting image of his beautiful mother?  Isn’t he the handsomest Dwarf lad you have ever laid eyes upon?”

“Um…” Lion-O began but he was quickly cut off as Glóin did not hesitate to give Lion-O a chance to voice his opinion.

Glóin carried on, “My lad is a warrior through and through, but he also is as quick and sharp as the swiftest Dwarven sword!  I taught his numbers well, I did, and he makes me so proud when he can calculate figures, interest rates, and balances in his head!  By Mahal, I remember when he assessed the tab for one of our weekly tavern visits with my coworkers at the Ered Luin treasuries.  My chest puffed up at the sight of old Galli spitting out his ale when my wee son told him he stiffed his share of the bill by two copper bits!  He would make me proud if he followed my family’s profession to be a banker and money-collector!  My dear Gimli, he’ll grow up into a powerful and admired Dwarf Lord someday!  Do you not agree?”

“I guess - ,” Lion-O began but Glóin gave no indication as he looped a burly and muscular arm around Lion-O’s waist and started blubbering, wailing rather dramatically.

“My poor wife and son!  It just about tore my heart to leave the two of them in the Blue Mountains!  But hopefully, I shall be able to bring them much glory and a better future!  My wife is such a dear in the kitchens that if we should succeed in the quest against Smaug, I shall construct a marvelous and grand kitchen with pure gold shelves, steel counters, and jewel-encrusted pans!  Just for her!  Oh, you would simply adore her fish and lamb stews if you ever got a chance to sample her cooking, Young Baggins!  And her beauty!  Oh, the way her eyes just sparkle like gold and pure honey by the kitchen fire when she cooks us a feast enough to feed ten Dwarves!  The way her gentle voice sings and hums and is melodious enough to sound like pure harp-strings made of the winds and morning birdsong!  And her beard!  Soft as goose-down and delicately frames her face and plump, rosy cheeks!  Oh, she is the epitome of Dwarven beauty, Lion-O, my boy!  Each and every hour, I bless Mahal for being so gracious to have her as my wife!”

“Well, I - ”

“Did I ever tell you about the time my young Gimli felled down his first tree?  I could have burst with pride when he took to the task of taking down a rather stubborn dying pine that was causing problems with its roots infringing on one of the caravan roads, a tree so wide in its girth that it would have taken four Dwarves to chop it down in a single day!  But Gimli, my resourceful and hardy Gimli!  He took it down in a mere three hours!”

For some reason, Lion-O started to get a sinking feeling in his stomach as Glóin carried on…

Much, _much_ later…

Dori had to admit that perhaps the Hobbits were on to something; he personally could adjust to having seven meals a day!  And a second breakfast of piping hot porridge with cream, sugar, fresh berries and heaping piles of buttered toast with succulent marmalade was just fantastic.  Dori was rather grateful Bilbo managed to rush off to his neighbors and the Green Dragon Inn to buy some food for his hungry guests the instant the dawn broke out.

When Bilbo commented how he was worried that Lion-O hasn’t shown up for breakfast, Nori gave his most charming smile as he reported that Glóin and Lion-O were talking in his room about packing for the quest.  Bilbo, though worried that his son would be missing a meal, decided to let it go and let Bombur eat Lion-O’s share of toast, eggs, and bacon.

After finishing second breakfast, Bilbo left to talk with Hamfast Gamgee and the Mayor about leaving Bag-End and how he wanted matters handled while he and Lion-O were gone.  Bifur, Bofur, Ori, and Bombur eagerly volunteered to wash the dishes.

The look of horror mixed with resignation and fear on Bilbo’s face was absolutely priceless.

Dori was starting on his third bowl of oatmeal while Lion-O stumbled out of his bedroom, half dazed as a cheerful and humming Glóin left straight for the kitchen to see if he could help himself to leftovers.  Lion-O sank heavily towards the nearest wooden chair at the dining table gratefully, resting his cheek against the cool surface of the wood.

Peace and quiet.  He welcomed it.

“So, did you enjoy your talk with Glóin?” Dori asked, a naughty smirk on his face.

“Glóin did nothing but talk about his wife and his Gimli.  **For over three hours** ,” Lion-O whined wearily, half in a stupefied state and half crying from frustration.  He was not even sure he would regain proper functioning of his brain for the rest of the day.  Dori continued to serenely eat his porridge.

“Now you know why we left so quickly,” the Dwarf sophisticate commented.  Lion-O managed to muster enough mental strength to turn his head and give Dori an accusing glare.

“You **could** have warned me,” Lion-O growled.  Dori shrugged half-heartedly.

“We could, but we also all agreed that it was better if you experienced it yourself, and that furthermore, having you as the next victim would give us ample time to escape the monologue.”

“I’m starting to wonder if it’s not Nori whom I should deem as the ‘evil’ Ri brother.”

Dori simply sipped his tea with his pinky-finger extended as a response.

After hungrily gobbling down his oatmeal and toast, Lion-O was about to step outside on his way to the Thain when he was stopped by Balin.

“Young Baggins, a moment, if you please?”

“Yes, Master Balin?” asked Lion-O curiously as he walked up to the white-haired Dwarf who was busily updating the Company contracts to include the addition of Bilbo and Lion-O as he scribbled away on the table in Bilbo’s study.

“I take it that you are going to talk to the Thain, the one who is considered a main authority figure here in Hobbiton?  About your departure?” Balin asked as Lion-O walked hesitantly towards the doorway.  Lion-O blinked before he nodded.  The Dwarf sighed as he put down his quill into the inkwell.

“Your father said that both you and he needed to settle your affairs before taking the quest to Erebor, and that is understandable given that we do not know if we shall ever return or how many months it shall require to reclaim our home,” Balin stated before he gave Lion-O a rather stern and steely look.  Lion-O was so startled at the abrupt change that he involuntarily took a step backwards from the harsh glint of the grey eyes staring at him.

Balin then made his point clear.

“I would **_highly_** advise that you do not repeat what has been discussed here in Bag End in the previous night, Young Baggins.  We have many enemies, those who are willing to do whatever it takes to ensure that Thorin never lives to be King, that he never reaches the Lonely Mountain.  Secrecy is a must, and to break it would endanger all of our lives.  If you must tell your fellow Hobbits why you are leaving, please create a fabricated story of some sort to divert curiosity and prying eyes from our real agenda.  In other words, no one is to know any detail about our mission or Erebor.  **_Is that clear?_** ”

“Yes…” gulped Lion-O, stammering like a chastised child, “I…I guess I can make up a story about trying to find my birth family, if…if need be.”

“That would be satisfactory.  Now, away with you,” Balin dismissed gently, suddenly smiling and his eyes twinkling with mirth as he turned back to his contracts.  Lion-O uneasily retreated away before hurriedly leaving through the front door.

Evidently, Balin was very soft-spoken and easy-going, but he made it clear that you do **_not_** want to get on his bad side.

As he walked under the sunshine and cool morning air, Lion-O rehearsed his proposed cover story in his head, trying to go over his white lie over and over as to leave no little detail unturned or unexplained, making sure it was satisfactory enough for the Thain and any other Shire official to accept his sudden departure without question.

“Oi!  _Boggins!_ ”

Lion-O’s eyes widened with horror as he actually felt his hackles rise with fear and dread.

“Oh no…” the furry teen whispered to himself as he contemplated sprinting directly to the Thain’s smial, to the Void with Hobbit manners and sensibilities.  Lion-O then regretted not fleeing the instant he felt Fíli and Kíli spring up on either side of him, wrapping an arm around Lion-O’s waist and grinning puckishly as they trapped the teenager.

“Fancy meeting you here, Housecat,” Fíli chuckled good-naturedly.

“ **Not a housecat** ,” growled Lion-O as he tried to break free from the Princes’ grips and walk away, but the two Dwarves just simply latched on even more tightly.

“Nice morning for a stroll, do you not agree, Lion-O?” Kíli said with a toothy grin hat did little to ease the trepidation churning in Lion-O’s gut.

“So, where are you going?” Fíli chimed in, his eyes light and his smile showing his dimples.

“Nothing particular.  Good day,” hissed Lion-O as he then managed to break loose out of the Princes’ grip and started power-walking at a quick pace, trying to leave the two miscreants alone.  Even with his long strides, both Kíli and Fíli tailed after Lion-O.

“‘ _Nothing particular’_ , he says.”

“Seems quite eager to get to this nothing particular, wouldn’t you agree, brother of mine?”

“Do you think he wants to leave us behind?”

“Perish the thought!  Who would want to not have two roguishly handsome and daring Dwarf Princes as Company?”

“ **It’s private.  Good day, you two** ,” growled Lion-O insistently, but the two miscreants kept verbally twisting Lion-O’s patience with good natured humor as they let out ridiculing and exaggerated gasps of shock.

“By the Hammer of Mahal!  Keeping secrets?!  From your own comrades and brothers-in-arms?”

“I’m hurt, Young Boggins!”

“We both are!”

“But I suppose it’s understandable that a Housecat wouldn’t understand the value of friendship and brotherhood like us Dwarves do…”

“Shame, really.  And the Company needs to be aware of anything that could endanger our vocation to the Lonely Mountain.”

“Well, wherever Lion-O is going, we’ll just wait outside, like the considerate and respectful guests we are.”

“Peering through the windows…”

“Eavesdropping against the door…”

“Burrowing down the chimney…”

“Making faces against the glass…”

“Burping contests to pass the time…”

“Perhaps if this Thain has any crockery outside on his estates, we can practice our juggling and knife throwing skills…”

“Oooh!  I’ve been meaning to practice my archery!  Know if these Hobbits like to hang their laundry outside?”

“Another round of ‘ _That’s What Bilbo Baggins Hates_ ’, brother dear?”

Lion-O froze in his tracks, allowing both Fíli and Kíli to unceremoniously collide into his back in their efforts to tail the Cat closely.

“You wouldn’t…” moaned Lion-O.

Silence was what answered back, but Lion-O didn’t have to turn around to see the taunting and devilish smiles dancing across Fíli and Kíli’s faces.

Lion-O sighed.

“You can come with me to the Thain if you like.  **But no talking, either of you. _Agreed?_** ” Lion-O emphasized, growling at that last word.

Kíli and Fíli shared a look before nodding obediently.

For some reason, the way they agreed so readily about the whole thing was what made Lion-O’s hair stand on end.

Lion-O, Fíli, and Kíli finally approached the Thain’s smial, the pristine and gigantic establishment showing its grand fields with its own stone well, blooming flowers nestling the cobblestone walkway to the porch, the fields of green wheat, and the numerous, curtained windows sticking out of the grassy ground, indicating that the Thain had many rooms and spacious foyers inside his mansion under the rolling hills.

It would be considered a pristine and picturesque scene…if it wasn’t for the gaping crater in the southern wing of the Thain’s home, an ugly and deep indentation sunk into the dirt that encompassed two of the smial’s former bedrooms.  Though thankfully the Thain was able to renovate and rebuild his property around the destruction after Lion-O helped clear away the rubble and carted out the boulder fragments, the glaring fact that one portion of the mansion’s dirt roof and walls were oddly misshapen was pretty evident.

Both Kíli and Fíli looked at the damage of the fissure, awestruck and amazed.

 “It’s as if a Stone Giant has stepped on his house!” whistled Fíli, seeing the damage up close as they ambled up the footpath.

“Or a falling star!  Or an Oliphant!  Or…something,” Kíli chimed in eagerly in wild imagination.

“Or something…” coughed Lion-O uncomfortably as he knocked on the Thain’s front door.

The Thain of the Shire did not look entirely pleased to see Lion-O, less so with two Dwarven strangers tailing the Thunderian.  However, graciously and with Hobbit sensibilities, Lion-O, Fíli, and Kíli all found themselves in the grand and spacious living room inside the smial (large enough to comfortably house the Men and the Ranger visitors that came to Hobbiton occasionally).  To the Thain’s request, two Shirriffs were attending the meeting as witnesses, although they looked a bit uncomfortable, especially since Fíli and Kíli helped themselves immediately to the fruit platter, tea cakes, candied nuts, and jasmine tea the instant the Thain set them out on the table without prompt.

“Many thanks,” Fíli uttered with his cheeks bulging, bits of food flying out of his mouth while he talked as Kíli made noises of enjoyment as he slurped his tea.

Lion-O winced, mortified.

The Thain and the Shirriffs’ disapproving glares returned with reinforcements.

The Cat wondered if it was too late to go running back to the Shire with his tail in between his legs.

Lion-O then slowly told the Thain and the Shirriffs how he was leaving with the Dwarves, how Gandalf brought them over to Bag End with the prospect of finding Lion-O’s fellow race and biological family, and getting answers to how and why he was left in the Shire.

The Thain appeared serious as he contemplated what Lion-O told him (with Kíli and Fíli still eating noisily in the background).  The Hobbit Elder then sighed introspectively as he frowned at Lion-O.

“As much as I understand the desire for you to find your past ties and far be it from me to argue with a Sage such as Gandalf, there is one important aspect you have forgotten, Young Baggins.  You have **not** finished repaying the damage done to my home.  You have **not** yet fully covered the expenses for that confounded catapult incident.  I actually had more faith in your integrity than this.”

This actually caught Kíli and Fíli by surprise as they both stopped chewing, gave each other a glance out of the corner of their eyes, and then both stared incredulously at Lion-O in disbelief.  Lion-O’s face turned a bit red underneath his fur, hot with embarrassment, as he then took out a sizeable pouch from his coat pocket.

“I know,” Lion-O conceded gently, placing the money pouch on the serving table and pushing it gently towards the Thain, “Which is way I’m leaving you a down-payment as a promise that I will try to return and repay back everything.  This is half of all the wages I have collected when I worked at the Green Dragon.”

The Hobbit leader blinked before his eyes softened, not expecting Lion-O to try to make due on his compensation for past damages.  Yet before the Thain could do anything, inopportunely, the two Dwarf princes piped up.

“Master Thain of the Shire, you may not want to touch that money just yet,” Kíli said with a serious look in his eyes.

The Hobbit adult blinked before curiously asking, “Why?”

“Because our dear Lion-O has left out…another reason why he is coming along with us,” Fíli said calmly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he addressed the Shire official with a serious look on his face.  The Thain’s eyes narrowed while Lion-O’s face blanched with horror and confusion.

_What were Kíli and Fíli doing?_

The Thain’s voice dropped several degrees with censure as he asked, “Young Lion-O Baggins, have you been lying to me about your reasons that you and your father are leaving?”

Fíli smoothly covered with his uncharacteristic seriousness as he explained, “Oh no, Master Thain of the Shire.  I, Fíli Durinson of the line of Durin of Ered Luin, swear by my family name that Lion-O has told you the reason why he wishes to go on this trek.  But the second reason for his parting is…a little…embarrassing.”

“Oh?” the Thain asked, his expression softening with interest.

“It is a bit of a health issue.  Lion-O has a…condition,” Fíli then said delicately.

Lion-O’s face went a bit pale as he blanched while the Thain’s eyes widened in horror.  The two Shirriffs, upon hearing this, took a step backwards.

“ _What?!_ ” hissed Lion-O, his voice strangled and raspy in his throat.  Kíli then jumped in a bit exuberantly.

“Well, you see, our Lion-O has recently developed a strange malady due to his fur.  It isn’t serious now, but Master Boggins hasn’t been able to find a cure to his mysterious disorder, and thus, our dear Young Mister Boggins - ”

“ _Baggins_ ,” corrected the Thain and the two Shirriffs automatically.

Lion-O didn’t chime in; his jaw was inexplicably locked with indignation and offense as his eyes bulged out.  It was like he was frozen and helplessly unable to speak a single word.

“…is coming with us to the West because several of the Dwarven families in the Blue Mountains are quite familiar with the ailment.  They can help see that Lion-O gets the healing and treatment that he requires.”

“Then why didn’t Bilbo Baggins fetch the healers here in Hobbiton?” one of the Shirriffs asked, confused. 

Fíli then piped up, “It is because Gandalf has informed Master Baggins that the Dwarves in Ered Luin have remedies that can help treat Lion-O, none of which that are found anywhere else in Middle Earth.  Your healers would most likely be unable to do anything to assist in Lion-O’s treatment, and the Gray Wizard would probably want the best chance to help his own godson.  You **have** spotted Gandalf being here in the Shire recently, correct?”

Lion-O was twitching with horror and shock, wondering if he was delusional and simply having a bad dream.  He hissed warningly, “ _Fíli…_ ”

At the Thain and Shirriffs’ horrified nods, Kíli continued, “We Dwarves are a secretive race, so it would make sense that Bilbo would not be able to find such record of this disease in his library or with the Shire’s doctors.  However, our kin are quite familiar with this blight, and since our caravan is on the way to meet our families of Ered Luin, Gandalf has arranged with Lion-O and Bilbo to travel with our company to the West.  That was why he has been here recently and escorted us into the Shire, not only to meet with the dear Lion-O and Master Boggins - ”

“ _Baggins._ ”

“…but to accompany them back to our home where they can rest from this dratted virus.  Shame, really, to have Lion-O suddenly contaminated with his special condition.  No one else here in the Shire has it.”

Lion-O let out a strangled squeak through his larynx, beside himself with horror and anger.

“ **I do not have a condition!** ” Lion-O practically squealed in dismay.  Fíli patted Lion-O’s shoulders in a lugubrious display of sympathy.

“It’s all right, Lion-O.  You’re amongst friends now, so there’s no reason to put up such a brave front.  Still, rather valiant of you to keep up appearances to ease your dear father’s woes.”

“Is this infection contagious?!” squeaked one of the Shirriffs.

Kíli waved off easily saying, “There is no need to fret.  We Dwarves are born of stone by Mahal.  We are immune to Lion-O’s condition, so there is no need to worry.  And Gandalf is a master wizard, above such trite things such as contamination from a simple pestilence.”

“I meant, is it contagious to us Hobbits?!”

Fíli paused a bit in thought before he meekly shrugged his shoulders and confessed weakly, “Ah…we’re not sure.  I don’t…think so.  Maybe?  Perhaps not?  Although Bilbo himself has been complaining of a headache recently last night…”

Lion-O was right about ready to pummel Fíli and Kíli to the ground and bury their bodies in the Thain’s backyard.

The Thain shot up so quickly that his chair tipped over before he hurriedly shoved the money pouch back into Lion-O’s sweaty and hands before he and the two Shirriffs ushered their three guests out.

“Oh my, then by all means!  Get Lion-O the help he needs!  The poor lad simply must leave posthaste, the poor thing!  Oh, do not worry about paying me back, Lion-O!  You can keep your money!  **Really!**   I forgave you for the catapult incident long ago!  And I can only admire how despite your sickness, you’re noble and gracious enough to try to fully make restitution!”

“ **But -**!” Lion-O tried to protest.

“Completely understandable why you would not wish to tell us of such an embarrassing condition!” chimed in one of the Shirriffs, “But do not worry: we completely sympathize on your plight, and we will wish you and Bilbo the best and ensure that no Hobbit will come to bother you!”

Kíli innocently put on a confused face as he inquired, “But, Master Hobbits, are you sure?  What if some of your fellow Hobbits wish to say goodbye to the Baggins - ”

“ ** _Boggins!_** ” snapped the two Shirriffs automatically, only to blanch upon the lapse and groan.

“Confound these Dwarves!” muttered one, “Now they got **us** doing it!”

“No, no, no!” interrupted the Thain, “The Shirriffs will let the other Shire and Hobbiton residents know of Lion-O’s condition and warrant that no one else will disturb you lot as you make preparations to leave tomorrow for the Blue Mountains!  Thank you, feel free to get whatever supplies you need from our markets, and have a safe journey all of you!”

With that, a stunned Lion-O found himself rudely shoved out onto the front porch of the Thain’s home before the front door slammed and locked shut behind him.

Lion-O was quivering with a combination of shock, embarrassment, and a sudden to urge to kill the two laughing Dwarf princes in front of him, his head now throbbing at his temples while his vision was in danger of being clouded with red.

“Oi!  Are you all right, Young Boggins?” Kíli asked upon seeing the look on Lion-O’s face.

Lion-O wasn’t sure how to respond; he was torn between wanting to throttle Kíli, punch the Fíli in the face repeatedly, or just grab both of them by their collars and scream directly into faces until he was hoarse.

With great restraint, Lion-O could only ask hoarsely one single word.

“ ** _Why?_** ”

Fíli managed to look somewhat respectfully serious as he pointed out, “As Balin said, secrecy about our journey is needed.  Now, not only do we have less of a chance of nosy being asking too many questions about our sudden departure from the Shire, but if anyone is following us, they will think we were part of the caravans back to the Blue Mountains.  Since we’re going in the opposite direction towards the East, this will help keep our activity clandestine.”

“And technically speaking, we weren’t lying when we said you had a special and unique condition.  You’re the only resident of the Green Hills that has fur and a tail.  We just…were selective with our words.  Not our fault that the Thain and the other Hobbits jumped to conclusions,” Kíli pointed out, shrugging his shoulders.

“So now we can leave without drawing a crowd early in the morning…” Fíli highlighted.

“And you got to keep all of your money,” chimed in Kíli proudly, “So now you won’t have to grieve over losing half of your savings.  See?  Everything worked out for the better!”

“No need to thank us.  That’s what brothers and comrades are for!” they both said in annoying unison.

Lion-O was actually shaking, quivering with rage and the sudden desire to slaughter the two pranksters in front of him.  Feeling light-headed, Lion-O actually hunched over, propping his hands against his knees as he inhaled and exhaled rapidly through his nose in deep, drawing breaths, nearly hyperventilating for a good minute.

Sincerely concerned, both of the Dwarves knelt next to Lion-O.

“Oi!  You wish to lie down for a spell, Lion-O?” Fíli asked, alarmed.

“Whatever is the matter, Housecat?” Kíli asked, troubled.

The **_only_** thing that prevented Lion-O from murdering the two Durin Princes right then and there at that moment was how disappointed and horrified Bilbo would be at his actions.

Damned Gentle-Hobbit sensibilities…

Lion-O felt his face scald, his mouth set to a wide line and his teeth grinding against each other, before he just stood up, huffed and stomped away from the two Princes.

Fíli, chuckling and still light-hearted, ran up to the Thunderian and tried to appease the teenager, trying to console, “Oh, come now, Young Boggins, it was all in good fun!  It’s a good thing to tease and make other hilariously uncomfortable!  And surely there was no real harm - !”

It was then that Lion-O snapped, his temper now spewing out as he roared at the two Dwarves, “ ** _LEAVE ME ALONE!_** ”

This actually stumped the two as Fíli drew back a bit from the way Lion-O snarled, showing his sharp teeth as Lion-O’s claws came close to gouging his face and beard.  Gulping, Fíli obediently backed off, hands held up in a non-threatening manner as Kíli blinked.

Satisfied, Lion-O continued stomping away, muttering loudly.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to know that you both hate me enough to put me through such humiliation.”

Kíli responded back, truly confused, “If we hated you, we would have left you alone.”

Lion-O pretended to not hear that as he trudged ahead, still irate.

In the interim, Lion-O was apparently not the only irate being in the Shire…

“This will be a complete disaster!  Just you wait!  I simply do not what Tharkûn was thinking when he claimed that this Gentle-Hobbit would be our Burglar!”

Dwalin offered a non-committal grunt as he continued to sharpen his daggers.

“‘ ** _Conkers_** ’, the Halfling said!  He thinks trying to reclaim our homeland and steal our Kingdom back from the wyrm is nothing more than a game, a farce, an easy-going stroll in the park with a picnic and all luxuries at his fingertips!”

Dwalin breathed on the shining metal of his knife, fogging up the surface before wiping the metal squeaky-clean with a tattered rag.  He made sure to not appear as if he was using the reflection of the shiny surface to check over his shoulder…

“He has absolutely no experience with fighting!  I do not know which will be the worse if we come across Azog himself: either the Halfling would run away screaming like a Dwarfling or he would collapse in a dead faint at the sight of the Orc’s ugly face!  And I for one will not carry that useless lump of dither-dallying softness!”

Dwalin meticulously and carefully placed all of his daggers back into their respective sheaths in his weapons belt, suddenly realizing that he pretty much had nothing else left to do.  He furbished his knuckle-guards, sharpened his axes and blades until they sang in the wind, buffed every bit of his armor until it shone under the sun…

“I would rather have taken risk with the unlucky number as opposed to the Halfling!  We would actually be better off!  Having a grocer who knows nothing other than his pantry and doilies is a jinx, a curse, a misfortune that is far worse that any unlucky number put together!”

Dwalin stared off into space with a stony expression.

Normally, Dwalin could understand a need to vent, with so much worry and concern and vexation riding on Thorin’s shoulders, his high expectations for himself and his people’s future hammering in the fact that failure was not an option.

But Thorin had been complaining, bemoaning, and griping for over an hour.

_One entire, trying, long, droning, aggravating hour._

“We do not need a burden to come and make a mockery of this entire Company!  I do not know how long I shall be able to reign in my temper and perseverance if I have to listen to Bilbo Baggins whine and nitpick!  That little dimwit would most likely start complaining about the lack of feather beds and soft pillows on the first night as well as the deficiency of food!  By the forge of Mahal, did you see how that arrogant, disrespectful little weakling addressed me in his hovel last night?!  I will **not** take such disrespect lying down!  I am tempted to turn that little Halfling upstart over my knee and discipline him like the annoying babe he displays himself to be!”

“Perhaps we should discuss further details on how we plan to find the Arkenstone…” Dwalin tried to segue in.

“And the Arkenstone!  How in the name of Mahal can that incompetent Halfling ever be trusted with such a precarious and vital mission to steal such a revered artifact?!  I would not trust that pudgy burden to carry my most shabby and rusted sword, much less the one defining jewel of the line of Durin that grants the rights of kings and rulers!”

Dwalin inhaled wearily through his nose, feeling the beginning of a headache.

Maybe he could try patching up his tunic and boots with some borrowed needle and thread.  Normally, he did not like sowing, but at this point, it was understandable to try _anything_ to avoid listening to the tirade…

* * *

Later that night, the Dwarves were rowdily singing and dancing in the tavern of the Green Dragon, feasting hungrily on the food Lion-O managed to purchase with some of the savings he meant to give to the Thain as down-payment.  Due to the emptiness of Bilbo’s pantry and how there was no real need to restock since Bilbo and Lion-O would be gone for who knew how long, Gandalf decided that the Dwarves could enjoy their final stay and meals at the Shire’s local inn.

At first, Lion-O didn’t want to even pay for the Dwarves’ meals due to being sore at Kíli and Fíli’s antics and disaster with the Thain earlier in the day (he was already getting many odd looks due to his “sickness”).  Still, Gandalf took Lion-O aside and said that the Dwarves were helping to budget their money-reserves to include Lion-O and Bilbo in their journey, which included supplies and Lion-O’s own horse to ride on.

It was strange how even as a teenager, Lion-O’s godfather still had the ability to make him feel awkward and ashamed.

On the bright side, at least Bilbo would no longer need to supply more of his resources to feed Thorin and his Company.  Lion-O still could not help but be amazed at how much food and drink the Dwarves could put away, although he was a bit surprised that they treated all the servers and help of the Green Dragon (even himself) with cordial respect and without insult.

Leaving several empty glasses as the bar for washing, Lion-O was about to leave to collect more dishes when Barmy Rootknot then discreetly but firmly grabbed Lion-O’s wrist, getting the teenager’s attention.

“Are you truly going away, Lion-O?” Barmy murmured with sadness.

“I think so, Barmy,” Lion-O answered truthfully.  He wanted to tell his boss more, but remembering Balin’s warning, he left his answer at that.  Barmy’s response was actually poignant as he then squeezed Lion-O’s hand affectionately.

“If you do ever come back,” the innkeeper whispered, “Your job will still be available for you should you wish.”

Lion-O was stunned, silent and touched before he smiled and squeezed Barmy’s hand in return.

“Thank you, Barmy.”

“I’ll miss you.  You’re a good lad,” and with that small confession, Barmy plastered a smile on his face as he greeted two newcomers as the customers ordered two drafts.

Dwalin stopped Lion-O, grabbing his forearm a bit rudely as the furry Cat passed by with a tray of dirty dishes.

“What did you tell him?” the burly Dwarf asked gruffly.

Lion-O answered with bewilderment, “Barmy asked if I was going away, and he said that if I ever come back, my job is still available if I want it.”

Studying his face before finding the answer satisfactory, Dwalin let go of Lion-O’s arm, leaving Lion-O wincing at the sudden sting of having the blood rush instantly back into his bicep.  Dwalin was stronger than he looked, and Lion-O wouldn’t be surprised if the Dwarf’s fingers left bruises.  As he went into the kitchen, the burly Dwarf guard joined with Thorin Oakenshield and Balin at a table near the fireplace at the corner of the parlor, warm and a bit distanced from the crowds.  Balin gave a bit of a disapproving frown at his brother.

“What was **_that_** all about?” Balin scolded as he swallowed his ale.

“Just needed to make sure Young Baggins hasn’t told his employer anything about our quest,” Dwalin replied, darkly glaring at every stranger and Hobbit in the dinette as if they were a secret assassin or enemy.

“Pray is there a reason to be so hostile?” Balin asked, one white eyebrow raised.

Dwalin then voiced his concern lowly and secretly in Khuzdul, “ _We’re being watched._ ”

Schooling his face into a neutral expression, Balin took a calm sip from his tankard of ale before he answered without even looking at his brother or Thorin, “ _Yes, I had the feeling ever since we arrived at Bag End._ ”

“ _Have you been able to locate these spies?_ ” Thorin asked gruffly, his eyes darting amongst the Hobbits and travelers in the bar.  Dwalin paused before he admitted with some embarrassment.

“ _No, and I have tried every tactic and trick to my knowledge.  It could be that I am simply overreacting over nothing.  We have been surrounded by Hobbits for the entire day, having them gawp at us over from the sidelines._ ”

“ _I doubt it.  The Gentle-Folk would not have made me **this** uneasy.  Despite their suspicions of strangers, none of them have proven to be a threat, and if it were Orcs or Wargs, we would have easily spotted them.  They are not masters of stealth and their appearance would have easily caused a panic amongst the Hobbits,_ ” Balin murmured.

Thorin then gruffly muttered his order over the rim of his mug.

“ _Have the thief named Nori investigate the Shire once we go to bed.  Set up a watch, starting with Bifur and Óin tonight and alternate with them later, Dwalin._ ”

“ _I do **not** want to use that thief_,” spat Dwalin.

“ _History aside, he can move in the shadows and think like a blackguard, both of which are unconventional but different methods from yours that might see if we are being watched by anyone dangerous_ ,” Thorin returned.  Dwalin frowned but gave a jerky nod of consent.

Balin then smiled as he teased over the rim of his tankard, “ _Besides, dear brother: with Nori being preoccupied and you being free, it may give you a chance to talk to that one Ri brother that you have been eyeing for some time -_ ”

“ _If you wish to keep your beard, you will not repeat what you have just uttered. **Ever**_ ,” growled Dwalin with a deep timbre of warning from his gut, giving an absolutely evil and bloodshot eye as he reached for Grasper and Keeper lashed to his back.

Thorin and Balin just smirked at each other as they drank.

After all, they had the entire journey to Erebor to needle Dwalin about this delicious tidbit.

After collecting all the dirty dishes from the dining hall, Lion-O emerged from the sweltering kitchen to take a refreshing breather outside in the night air.  Only to find to his surprise Bilbo waiting for him, sitting serenely on one of the Green Dragon’s wooden benches.  Bilbo smiled as he patted the area next to him, inviting his son to sit as he lit with pipe.

Lion-O obediently sat down and sighed with relief at the chance to rest his legs after being on his feet all night.  Bilbo just serenely looked up at the moon and night sky as he puffed away at his Old Toby.  It was quiet for a while between the two Baggins before Lion-O was eager to break the silence.

“It’s feels odd now that I finished my last work shift,” commented Lion-O, “Barmy thankfully was gracious enough to say that my job would be still be available if I return back to the Shire.”

Bilbo smiled and nodded, although his face fell a bit in sadness.

Recovering quickly, Bilbo blew out two smoke rings as he asked, “How are you feeling about tomorrow?”

Lion-O’s eyes sparkled with vigor as he looked into the twinkling sky, declaring, “I cannot wait.  _An adventure!_   To find my family and help these Dwarves reclaim their lost home and kingdom!  It will be exactly like a fairy tale!  No, wait!  A master fairy tale that puts all other stories to shame!”

Bilbo felt his heart and soul warm up at the light of wonder and awe sparkling in Lion-O’s eyes, making them shine brighter than the stars and moon above.  Bilbo puffed away with his pipe as he declared several tidbits.

“Well, we do not have to worry about matters at the Shire.  Everything has been settled and taken care of.  Hamfast will tend to the gardens and keep everything trimmed, neat, and tidy.  Mirabella and the Brandybuck girls will keep Bag End dusted and clean once a month.  The Mayor has notarized and settled my last will and testament, ensuring that Bag End and its belongings will go to their proper beneficiaries if…if there’s trouble.”

“Leaving Bag End to the Sackville-Baggins, I presume?” Lion-O leered.

“Bite your tongue, you furry blackguard,” shot back Bilbo good-naturedly as he flicked Lion-O’s ear painfully with one finger.  Lion-O chuckled as he flinched away while Bilbo continued.

“Other than that, I have been packing and putting things away for our trip.  Although, it was not bad at all, I daresay.  While you were at the Green Dragon, the Dwarf named Glóin kept me company with pleasant talk throughout.”

“I’m surprised you were able to hold on to the conversation that long, Father.  I could barely survive after his talk with me this morning,” groaned Lion-O weakly, slightly grimacing at the memory.  Bilbo puffed away at his pipe, enjoying the taste of tobacco.

“I did not mind.  It helps to finally have another parent to talk to about their children,” Bilbo murmured with a smile as he blew another smoke ring.

“Really?” Lion-O drawled, still not convinced.  He knew Bilbo had endless patience but still…

“He is rather…descriptive and dedicated to his pride of his wife and child, but believe it or not, he also wished to know about my relationship with you and how I raised you since you were a babe.”

“Assuming you could get a word in,” Lion-O commented.

“Glóin is not an infinite windbag, you little scamp.  Like all hurricanes and storms, there are brief moments of peace when he’s willing to listen.”

“Master Glóin is not like a hurricane.  A hurricane does not intentionally choose to be destructive or raids our pantry,” Lion-O said with a smile, and that was all that was needed to set Bilbo going.

“Master Glóin is one who burns with fierce opinions and a fiercer devotion…” Bilbo put out.

“He is the Speaker of the Locket and the Holder of Coin…” Lion-O returned.

“He is one who balances his wife on his left shoulder and his son on his right as easily as his ledger…”

“Master Glóin is one who bears an axe for a tongue, for both will send many running… ”

“He is the flaming coal in the fire that sparks at Kings and questions Sages in the parlor…”

“He is the Unpacker…”

“He is the Diatribe…”

“He is the Chaser of the Willing Ear…”

“He is the Fortunate Groom…”

They both fell into the comfortable rhythm of the game, riddles, indirect answers, and flowery descriptions that highlighted their universal love for stories.

It was a special thing, a unique ritual, just for the two of them.

And they continued it throughout the night until both Bilbo and Lion-O retired for bed, walking sleepily back to Bag End, unaware that two pairs of eyes were studiously watching them from the shadows…

* * *

That night, warm in his quilt, Lion-O dreamed about his father, the noble Bandit King, strong, swift as the wind, and a kind father and patriarch to all of his forty thieves.  The brawny leader of the Thieves then hugged Lion-O tearfully, declaring how much he missed his son and how he was glad his was safe and how much it broke him to send him away as a babe for his safety…

Lion-O then dreamed of how he was nervously approaching the massive gates of a gigantic and mammoth mansion of gold, stone masonry, and white marble.  Silently walking through the plantation grounds, to Lion-O’s surprise, he saw a massive banquet of exquisite food and drink with Cats of various colors and shapes and sizes celebrating while seated at a table draped with silk and linen.  Then, upon seeing Lion-O, all the aristocrats made noises of celebration and happy excitement as they led their lost kin to the head of the table in high honor of his homecoming…

Lion-O then dreamed of how his father and mother were powerful magicians, a Sorcerer and Sorceress, fair and ruling their lands and home with gallant hearts, and his father was a barrel-chested, strapping fighter while his other was a gentle and kind maiden of soft beauty.  Entering their alcove, Lion-O was then mobbed by multiple Cat children.  Praising and shouting, Lion-O’s brothers and sisters cried with happiness upon seeing their absent sibling returning at last…

Lion-O smiled to himself as he continued to envisage in his sleep.

Next door, however, Bilbo had trouble sleeping.

He stayed awake a good portion of the nightfall until the wee hours of the morning, sadly holding at the collection of fairy tales he read to Lion-O when he was a child, reminiscing and reverently rubbing the leather-bound book.

* * *

Bilbo could not help it as he sneezed again, feeling his eyes water.

“Are you all right, Father?” Lion-O asked worriedly as he nervously grasped the reins of his horse.  Ever since their leave from the Shire at the crack of dawn (with all the Hobbits still safely snug in their beds), Bilbo’s allergies were acting up as he rode up front of the saddle with Lion-O taking the reins from behind.

“I forgot my handkerchief,” wheezed Bilbo, “Could you be a good lad and lend me yours?”

“Um…” Lion-O trailed off hesitantly before he answered blushing, “I…well…I did not pack one.”

Bilbo groaned, “Lion-O!  Did you not read the list I planned out for you?!”

“Yes, Father!  I did!”

“So why did you not take your handkerchiefs?!”

Lion-O rolled his eyes amid the snickering Dwarves (and an amused Glóin).  This adventure was off to a _wonderful_ start…


	6. Wily-Trolls

“Fairy tales never said anything like **this** …” grumbled Lion-O as he shivered slightly underneath his coat.

Yes, the adventure had been off to a wonderful start.  And it just simply got better.

If by “better”, one meant riding on horseback through a torrential downpour.

“Gandalf, are you sure you cannot do something about this horrid deluge?” Dori asked as he and the Company followed the Gray Wizard and Thorin, the drops of water and precipitation falling harder and harder against their cloaks and steeds.  Though Bilbo and Lion-O were both wearing their overcoats, it did little for comfort when their clothing got absolutely soaked to the point where it draped heavily and icily against their skin.

While Gandalf was giving Dori a rather roundabout answer, Thorin Oakenshield looked over his shoulder and sent a cold and expectant glare at Bilbo Baggins, who somehow looked up and spotted the Dwarf King’s scrutinizing look.  As their eyes met, Bilbo felt his face grow hot, but despite the desire to immediately duck his head and avoid eye-contact, Bilbo just raised his chin and met Thorin’s penetrating stare head on without fear and a strong backbone, his lip set into a line.

Thorin blinked, as if surprised, before he frowned and turned away.  Focusing his attention on guiding his pony as he led his Company through the rainy forest.

Bilbo was puzzled.

What in the name of Yavanna was **_that_** all about?

Lion-O pretty much kept his grumbling and complaining to himself (it simply wouldn’t suit being a Gentle-Hobbit).  Still, it could only get better from here.  Already, Lion-O was day-dreaming of the fun experiences, with hot tea and jokes and story-telling amid a warm campfire, stopping at town after town and experiencing the local cuisines and friendly people, passing by beautiful sights and landscapes before resting in luxurious meadows and sparkling lakes and streams.

So it was rather a rude awakening when Lion-O, for his first week, was assigned some of the unpleasant duties of traveling across Middle Earth.

Like latrine digging.

“Why do **_I_** have to do it?!” exclaimed Lion-O in outrage as Dwalin none too gently tossed the young teenager a short shovel (which made it a little awkward since the tool was meant for the height of a Dwarf, not a six-foot Cat).

“Because I said so!  Now quit whining and dig the trench.  Otherwise, no dinner.”

“ ** _That’s not fair_** ,” growled Lion-O (in a non-whiny voice, of course – no he wasn’t whining, no matter what Dwalin claimed).

To his credit, Dwalin stood with his legs braced apart, arms folded across his burly chest, his eyes deadpanned and narrowed.

“Are you challenging my order, Young Baggins?” the Dwarf Guard rumbled like an avalanche.

For one second, Lion-O wanted to do _exactly_ that.  However, a quick glance towards his father revealed Bilbo shaking his head in disapproval, as if to tell the Thunderian to let it go and just do as he was told, as if Bilbo was trying to remind Lion-O that he raised his son to be better than that.

Swallowing his words, Lion-O clenched his teeth before he started tunneling, his anger and resentment being bottled up making his digs rather violent as dirt started flying.  Still, Lion-O thankfully found that the shovel was still effectively useable (and surprisingly sturdy) despite the Cat needing to stoop a bit in order to excavate.

Satisfied at the compliance, Dwalin ambled back towards the camp as the other Dwarves started setting up.  Balin was waiting for his brother, one eyebrow raised and clearly showing he wasn’t pleased.  Balin sighed as he and Dwalin stood side by side, watching Lion-O fume and dig.

“You’re being too hard on the lad,” Balin tried to gently point out, but this brought a rather dismissive snort from Dwalin.

The bald Dwarf guard retorted back, “He wanted to go on this quest, he needs to learn the difficulties of journeying, and molly-coddling and holding his hand as if he were a babe will not help him in the long run!  If he were in the Ereborian army, any self-respecting commander or general would have his hide for such blatant disrespect and difficulty!  I am helping him grow into a Dwarf, a true warrior, to respect his elders and authority.”

“He was not raised like we were,” Balin pointed out, “Be easy on the Young Cat, Brother.  He has lived in the Green Hills of the Shire all his life.  You will break him, thinking you can discipline him like one of the children of Mahal.”

“I am _helping_ him to grow into an adult.  What does not break him will only make Young Baggins become stronger, like how we have done with Kíli and Fíli – _don’t give me that look!_   As rambunctious and immature as they can be, the Durin Princes have brought pride to both Thorin and myself.  I am doing this for Lion-O’s sake and well-being, so drop it, brother of mine.  Schooling soldiers and instructing warriors is my expertise, **not yours**.”

Balin exhaled wearily; leave his brother to be as stubborn and unmoving as the Lonely Mountain itself.  The white-haired Dwarf murmured, “Just try to be encouraging.”

Dwalin had no idea why Balin sounded so lugubriously resigned about it.

He **_was_** being encouraging.

Dwalin was encouraging when he told Lion-O twenty minutes later that he was digging the trench wrong and that it had to be long enough to accompany all sixteen members of the Company.

Dwalin was being encouraging what he barked at Lion-O to not fling the dirt all around so haphazardly and to leave it gathered in small piles to it would be easy to fill the latrine and cover their tracks come morning.

Dwalin was also being encouraging when at the end of an hour when a sweaty and exhausted Lion-O finished digging the latrine, the burly Dwarf then told Lion-O that his job was passable, yet the teenager should have dug the trench around a downwards slope, how he should have made the trench deeper, and that before starting, he should have removed all the plants from the dirt first.

Unsurprisingly, this led to a rather heated argument as the red-faced Lion-O exploded and verbally lashed out, and it required Bilbo needing to stop his son from doing something regretful as Lion-O and Dwalin shouted at each other for a good minute or so.

In the background, Balin just rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Thorin was starting to seem more and more like he was reconsidering bringing the two Bagginses on this quest.

In the end, Lion-O spent another hour digging the latrine under Dwalin’s eagle-eyes before the Dwarf was satisfied (and Lion-O had to restrain himself from using the shovel to brain Dwalin).  At that point, it was past sunset, and night was already approaching.  A rather filthy and dusty Lion-O irately sat down on a log close to the fire, eyes flashing and in a rather horrible mood.

It also did not help that there was no stream or water source where Lion-O could wash up (as Balin said was a regular occurrence when travelling).  Still, his bad mood lessened a bit as a sympathetic Bombur handed Lion-O his share of the rabbit stew for dinner and when Bilbo sat down next to his son in an effort to minimize the vitriol.

“I raised you better than that, Lion-O,” Bilbo rebuked softly, causing Lion-O’s ears to flatten against his hair in embarrassment.

“I know…” muttered Lion-O as he wolfed down his meal.

“The Dwarves are actually being very accommodating,” Bilbo said gently, “As Gandalf as mentioned one or two times in the past, they could have refused to accept us and to help with your search for your fellow kin, but we made an agreement and signed a contract to assist them with their quest in return.  As I have stated before, a promise you must give - ”

“ - is a promise I must keep,” muttered Lion-O automatically, only to receive a stern glare from his father for interrupting.  Bilbo continued.

“It is all right to speak up in a rational manner if you believe something is unfair, nothing belligerent about that.  Questioning authority and discussing different opinions is generally healthy.  However, losing your temper and screaming at the top of your lungs will not help anyone, not me, not yourself, and not the Dwarves who have their dreams and hopes riding on reclaiming their lost home for their people.  Unlike the two of us who, by the grace of Yavanna, are fortunate to have a warm home in Bag End, and everything we could ever need for comfort and sustainability without the fear of being a vagrant or going hungry.”

Did both Gandalf and Bilbo have the extraordinary gift of making Lion-O feel like Middle Earth’s biggest heel?

Lion-O exhaled wearily before he set down his empty bowl, got up, and stiffly walked over to Dwalin who was in a rather animate discussion with Balin and Bifur.  Dwalin noticed the Cat ambling up to him and politely waiting in front.

“Can I help you, Young Baggins?”

“I apologize for earlier behavior, Master Dwalin,” Lion-O said, trying to be sincere and swallowing the resentment and sarcastic retorts in his gut, before offering a small bow.  Dwalin smirked, as if Lion-O was a student who finally grasped a concept in the classroom after hours of lecturing.

“Accepted, Young Baggins.  However, you’ll be having guard duty tonight, first shift.”

Lion-O walked stiffly back amid Dwalin’s smug chuckling, holding onto his temper by the slimmest of margins.  Still, it was worth it to see the small smile of pride and approval on Bilbo’s face as a result.

Later that night, as Lion-O was grumbling around the fire and nursing the blisters on his paws, he was sort of shocked as Ori, the young Dwarf scribe, sat next to the two Bagginses on the scratchy log.

“May we help you, Master Ori?” Bilbo asked, smiling.

The Dwarf blushed before he took out his quill and journal, asking, “If you both do not mind…can you tell me a little bit about your Shire?  About Hobbits?  Their lifestyle?”

Bilbo and Lion-O suddenly felt more at ease, and even Lion-O’s bad mood slowly but surely vanished upon seeing the eager and curious look on Ori’s face.  And now that Lion-O thought about it…

“Only if you’re willing to tell both of us a little bit about Dwarves and what life was like in the Blue Mountains,” Lion-O suggested, one eyebrow raised impishly.  He was confused then by the sudden flash of alarm and hesitation on Ori’s face before he nervously looked over to his brothers and Dwalin and Thorin (who were conversing with ease) before he leaned over and whispered carefully.

“Well, all right…but only some things that are not too secretive, mind you.”

Bilbo cocked his head to the side, inquisitive as he queried, “If it will cause problems in the future for you, Master Ori, then you do not have to tell us.  I did not realize that Dwarves were **_that_** secretive of their culture.”

“Just Ori, please.  And…and I can tell some things, not everything.  If you want to know, of course.”

“Or course I wish to know,” Lion-O said gently, smiling warmly at last, “Father always said that a day that I do not learn something new is a day wasted.  I’d be honored to know more about being a Dwarf.”

Despite his fear and uncertainty, Ori’s eyes twinkled as he blushed, his cheeks pink.

As the next hour droned by, Ori became less and less anxious as the three of them talked about various tidbits, having fun on gaining new understanding, a new perspective.  And Ori was secretly delighted that Lion-O and Bilbo were just as enthusiastic about learning odd facts and tidbits as he scribbled away fervently like a madman.

“So Hobbits never wear shoes?  **_Ever?_**   Even in the Winter?” Ori asked.

“Rarely, if the situation calls for it such as snow and ice,” Bilbo chuckled as he wiggled his gigantic feet, showing the hairy appendages, “But the soles of our feet are so hard and thick like the sturdiest leather, so it does not hurt us to go barefoot.  On the contrary, it feels absolutely wonderful to have the dirt and grass beneath our feet.  It’s our connection to the Earth as gifted by Yavanna.”

“So your Vala, the one we call Aulë, you call him Mahal?” Lion-O asked.

“Oh, yes.  Mahal and all Dwarves have two names, one we give to Men and Elves and the other a secretive, special name in Khuzdul, our special language that is forbidden to be taught to any outsider.  All Dwarves know their special name of their soul and heart, but will never reveal it to anyone except their kin or their One.”

“Their…One?”

“Uh…forget I said that, please, Master Lion-O.”

“Technically, I believe **_you_** are older than **_me_** , _Master Ori_.”

“You know Quenya?!”

“Yes, in Bag End, I managed to gain several books that are a part of my personal library from various sellers and traders when they arrive in Bree.  Ever since I was young, I was fascinated by the Elves and their culture and unlike your Khuzdul, it was relatively easy to find handwritten accounts of their language.  I am somewhat fluent, unlike my son, the lay-about who never had the patience to practice.”

Ori may have imagined it, but he could have sworn he saw Thorin stiffen his back, squaring his shoulders tensely …

“That’s not fair, Father!  I was more interested in fairytales and stories of the First Age rather than being a linguist!”

“I suppose I should have not expected anything different from a son who has his head in the clouds,” Bilbo snickered as he ruffled Lion-O’s red mane affectionately.

“Dwarves **_never_** cut their hair?  Why?”

“A Dwarf’s pride and self-respect resides in their hair and beards.  It is a symbol of their deeds, their soul, their accomplishments and status because if you notice, we keep them meticulously clean and braided with beads and trinkets of precious metals signifying our family crests and heirlooms.  To have your beard and hair shaven off is a cruel punishment meant for traitors or the most disgraced and lowest of criminals.  Dwarves…have actually died of shame from losing their beards and hair.”

And it went on and on and on.  Both Bilbo and Lion-O felt more at ease with the young Dwarf in the knitted mittens and scarf as he eagerly added to his pages, lost in his fervor.

“Having fun, Young Ori?” spoke a voice right behind the Dwarf scribe, causing him to slightly jump from his seat on the log.  Both Lion-O and Bilbo looked up to see an impish Fíli and Kíli looming over their comrade with toothy grins.  Lion-O actually growled at the sight of the two rascals.  Bilbo placed a hand on Lion-O’s furry arm as a warning.

Ori felt his face grow hot as he suddenly slammed his journal shut and hugged it close to his chest protectively as he replied impulsively, “We were just talking.”

To Ori’s growing uneasiness, both Kíli and Fíli gave each other sly and wayward glances.

“‘Just talking’, he says.”

“He wouldn’t be telling our two Bogginses anything too secretive about the children of Mahal, would he, brother dear?”

“Perish the thought!  Our innocent and loveable bookworm?  Of something so taboo?”

“You’re right, on second thought.  He wouldn’t dare leave from under Dori’s apron strings.”

“Quit it…” muttered Ori hotly.

“Aw, look at our dear brother-in-arms!  Blushing like a Dwarrowdam!”

“Is our little Ori being naughty?”

“Perhaps we should tell our dear Mister Dwalin!  He’d love to talk to our little Scribe and Chronicler.”

“ _Quit it…_ ” hissed Ori more insistently, now turning a deeper shade of crimson, hunching into a fetal position.

Lion-O frowned, already feeling protective of Ori as he was about to get up, his hands balled into fists.

Suddenly, there was a faint but distinct howling in the background (and Bilbo was partly grateful for the interruption).  It was absolutely bone-chilling, and it was amazing how fast everyone’s heads popped up, uptight and with several of the Company automatically going for their weapons.  Bilbo couldn’t help but whimper with trepidation as Lion-O felt his fur stand on end, his body’s hide inflating up like a dandelion puff.

“What…what was that?” the Hobbit asked.  
                “Orcs…” declared Fíli as everyone’s heads perked up at the golden-haired Prince as he and Kíli plopped themselves against the rock wall nearby, both of them smirking.  Ori couldn’t help but clutch his journal closer to his chest as he shivered.  Upon seeing the fear on Ori’s face, both of the young Durins couldn’t help but twist the knife with relish.  
  
“Throat-cutters.”  
  
“There’ll be dozens of them out there.  The low-lands are crawling with them.”  
  
“They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone’s asleep.”  
  
“Quick and quiet…”  
  
“No screams…”  
  
“Just lots of blood…”  
  
“ ** _You think this is a joke?!_** ” barked a deep voice in the background building each syllable with percolating anger.  Fíli, Kíli, Lion-O, Bilbo, and Ori all turned to see an angered Thorin advancing towards them, his face as pale as marble and his blue eyes as arctic and snowy as the largest glacier.  Both Fíli and Kíli flinched at the sight; this went far beyond the level of any irate temper tantrum…  
  
Thorin growled, his voice penetrating and feral, “ ** _You think this is funny?_** ”  
  
There was a tense and uncomfortable silence as the Company watched on.  
  
“We were just having a bit of fun,” Kíli gulped, immediately apprehensive.  It was amazing how quickly the Dwarf Prince lost his rambunctious and ribald attitude in an instant.  
  
Fíli tried to appease his seething Uncle as he confessed, “We didn’t mean anything by it.”  
  
Thorin’s enraged and cross expression turned to one of disappointment and regret.  
  
“No, you didn’t.  You know nothing of the world.”  
  
With that, the sable-haired, brawny King stomped off towards the horses and ponies, clearly fuming.  Fíli and Kíli looked ashamed, and for once, Lion-O and Bilbo both actually felt sorry for them.  
  
Then the wise Balin spoke softly, bringing the entire Company’s attention as he stroked his white beard in deep thought.  The old Dwarf eased himself on the log next to the Durin Princes, the warmth of the fire comforting his bones.  
  
“Don’t mind him, laddie.  Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs.”  
  
With that, Balin narrated a tale of the past to the transfixed audience.  The Dwarf told of how after the fall of Erebor, Thorin and his family led the Dwarves to retake the lost kingdom Moria, only to find it already occupied by Orcs, thousands and thousands of them with the foul creatures not the least bit eager to give up their home to Dwarvish invaders.  The worst of these Orcs was an Orc named Azog the Defiler, his skin as pale as marble and so bloodthirsty and violent that he could easily slay five Dwarves with one sweep of his mace. In his zeal, Azog killed King Thrór, beheading him in fromt of Thorin’s eyes before targeting Thorin himself, determined to wipe out the line of Durin once and for all.  
  
Using a lone and thick branch from an oak tree, Thorin managed to deflect Azog’s blows enough to escape death and slice Azog’s arm clean off at the elbow, critically wounding him.  Upon the sight of their Prince triumphing over the Orc leader, many of the other Dwarves rallied behind Thorin and managed to drive the Orcs away and decimate them significantly.  However, the Battle of Azanulbizar was absolutely devastating with the Dwarves needing to sacrilegiously burn their fellow dead kin.  
  
It did not escape Bilbo and a few of the others Dwarves’ attention that Balin’s eyes watered a bit by the campfire’s light while Dwalin lowered his head a bit as he stared at the ground, his arms crossed over his chest and his fingers digging into his biceps.  Ori looked at Dwalin with a soft look of sympathy and tenderness.  Bifur looked away, but Lion-O suddenly had a horrific realization of how Bifur exactly got the axe head embedded into his skull…  
  
Balin finished with a nod and a smile.  
  
“And I thought to myself then, ‘There is one who I could follow. There is one I could call King’.”  
  
There was a reverent silence as everyone in the Company turned to Thorin Oakenshield, who was standing in the moonlight, next to the ponies in a majestic manner, his hair loose over his shoulders.  One couldn’t blame the Dwarf leader for standing a bit taller, his chin raised, his posture so regal like the true King Balin had just artistically described…  
  
Bilbo felt his heart skip a beat.  Or several beats…  
  
“But the Pale Orc?  What happened to him?” Bilbo asked at last.  
  
“He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago.”  
  
This came from Thorin as he stared out to the view over the hilltops, looking at the peaceful forest and green countryside.  If Bilbo squinted, he could just make out the borders of the Shire with its moist, lush fields of wheat and rye.  
  
Thorin then barked orders for the Company to get to bed, with Dwalin none too gently reminding Lion-O that he was on the first shift of guard duty and that he needed to stay alert and awake.  Once his shift was over, he could let the Dwarf Bifur take over and the Cat would be allowed to catch some sleep.  
  
Bilbo went to his son to ensure that he would be all right before retiring for slumber.  To his slight surprise, Lion-O (who had not spoken a single word during Balin’s telling of the Battle of Azanulbizar) had his eyes wide and full of childlike wonder and admiration as he gazed at Thorin Oakenshield.  
  
This went beyond a love for a new fairy tale or story of dashing knights and good versus evil.  
  
“Are you all right, Lion-O?” Bilbo asked tentatively as he got his son’s attention by squeezing the Thunderian’s hand a bit.  Lion-O turned his dazed eyes towards his Hobbit parent, a crazed grin of reverence dancing on his face.  
  
“He…he’s like a hero from a legend.  **A real hero** …” breathed Lion-O in awe, his eyes wide with respect as he leaned over to his father in secret whispering.  
  
Bilbo smiled and nodded easily enough, although there was a slight twinge of worry when he saw the ember of worship in his son’s countenance.  
  
He just hoped that this wouldn’t lead to anything unpleasant as he went to his bedroll, wedged between Bombur and Bofur after wishing his son good night.  
  
On the contrary, Lion-O just eagerly kept watch by the fire as the night droned on, trying to pay attention to his surroundings.  Still, as the flames danced in front of his eyes, the young Baggins ward could not help but day-dream, closing his eyes as he let his imagination soar with new reveries.  
  
Lion-O imagined Thorin taking the Cat under his wing and instructing him how to use an axe.  The Dwarf King was warm and fatherly as he gave advice, smiling and inspiring, as Lion-O did his best to parry and copy each slash movement and move Thorin coached.  In the reverie, Thorin was a true and patient teacher, with the end of the lesson laughing and clapping Lion-O on the shoulder.  
  
Lion-O then day-dreamed how he and Thorin were in a bar, with Thorin standing atop a table with a mug of ale in his hand as he passionately told a story of his past heroics and adventures to a rapt audience.  Then to Lion-O’s surprise, Thorin pointed at Lion-O, saying how his latest journey couldn’t have been a success without his brother-at-arms, and Lion-O felt himself blush and smile as Thorin heaped praise on the Cat while everyone in the tavern raised their glass as a toast to Thorin’s newest comrade and trusted friend.  
  
Lion-O then visualized that he, Bilbo, and Thorin fighting with swords, back to back, the trio hurriedly and fiercely slaying Orcs and hairless monsters in a fury.  One by one, foes fell and died as they did their best to make their way through the enemy horde.  Bilbo was terrified, but Thorin was laughing, yelling how honored he was to be with Bagginses in this moment as he stabbed an Orc in the chest.  
  
Lion-O then pictured Thorin –  
  
A mysterious figure, cloaked in shadow and dressed in armor, waving a sword that shone in the darkness like the brightest star and the reddest sun…  
  
“Thunder!  _Thunder!_   ** _Thunder!_**   **_THUNDERCATS, HOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!_** ”  
  
“ **WAKE UP, HOUSECAT!** ” roared a familiar and baritone voice.  
  
Lion-O jerked awake, only to realize that he fell asleep in a sitting position on the log, so taken by surprise by the sudden shout that he yelped before caterwauling and falling backwards onto the ground.  Dazed and bit taken aback, Lion-O rubbed his eyes to see the Company staring down at him as they stood around.  Some, like Bilbo, Kíli, Fíli, and Ori, were showing looks of discomfort and hesitation.  Some, such as Nori and Balin, were emotionless and blank-faced.  Some were clearly not pleased, disappointed, and frowning like Dwalin and Bifur.  Yet it was Thorin Oakenshield who had the most frightening expression as he was darkly glowering with silent fury, his mouth stretched into a thin line and his nostrils white with anger.  
  
“Um…hello?” Lion-O blinked, perplexed.  
  
Bilbo, wincing, stated helpfully, “It’s morning, Lion-O, just past dawn.  You slept through your guard duty…and forgot to wake up Bifur for his turn.  In fact, you slept through the entire night.”  
  
“And left us open to attack and completely vulnerable,” growled Dwalin with clenched teeth.  
  
Lion-O’s eyes widened with horror upon realizing his error and how it could have very well been fatal.  Wincing and still lying on his back on the ground, Lion-O tried to offer a grin as he sincerely apologized, “I’m sorry?”  
  
If anything, Thorin looked even more disgusted.  
  
“It appears you are senseless enough to be unable to perform even the _simplest_ of tasks,” Thorin growled before turning around violently and stomping off.  Before leaving for the ponies, he shouted a few harsh words in Khuzdul before pointing an accusatory finger at Bifur, causing both Bofur and Bombur to cringe and hunch a bit in disgrace.  To his credit, Bifur just stood still, nodding and his head raised high.  
  
It wasn’t a far guess that Thorin was also chewing Bifur out for Lion-O’s mistake.  
  
As Thorin left, Bifur cast Lion-O a scowl that wasn’t exactly friendly, his blue eyes clear with condemnation.  It was amazing how expressive one could be with just a single look.  Lion-O blinked before he hunched his shoulders a bit in embarrassment and lowered his ears, regretful and apologetic as Bifur left.  
  
He certainly didn’t mean to get the Dwarf in trouble.  
  
This couldn’t get any worse.  
  


* * *

Bifur ignored Lion-O and maintained a good distance throughout the entire day, still irate as he rode his pony despite Lion-O’s attempt to apologize or lessen the bad blood.  The Dwarf with the axe head in his skull did not even bother to look at the Cat, giving the Baggins ward the cold shoulder.  After several attempts and a bark from Dwalin to stop pestering Bifur, Lion-O dropped his endeavors, crestfallen.  Bombur, siding with his brother, kept away from the teenager as well.

Thankfully, the cheery and kind Bofur still showed his optimistic and open attitude as he tried to placate Lion-O without any defamation.

“Aye, you made a mistake, and you feel badly about it and how Bifur also got the blame.  It’s appreciated, but it means little.  We could have all easily been killed if there were any highwaymen or marauders nearby, and I daresay that a few of us are more disappointed in the discovery that you cannot be depended on rather than your mistake itself.  We have to be on the lookout for each other, especially on such a dangerous quest such as this.  A person who is unable to carry his load is a burden we cannot afford.  So saying you’re sorry does not hold much to us Dwarves.”

“Then what does?” Lion-O asked, “I want to make up for my mistake.”

Bofur gave him a long look, as if studying the youth, before he smirked.

“You’ll have to find that out yourself,” Bofur stated before adding a conspiratorially whisper as he leaned over, “Although Uncle Bofur’s more than willing to give you a hint or two, laddie.”

Lion-O sighed in discouragement.

Later that day, the Company rested a bit after a long trek on horseback, easing their sore legs and rear ends.  Both Bilbo and Lion-O were grateful for the respite; Lion-O was aching so much that he could barely tolerate sitting down, and Bilbo had chaffed regions on the inside of his thighs.

Seriously, how was it that fairy tales never mentioned that you needed to adjust to riding on a horse?

Thorin Oakenshield and Gandalf appeared to be arguing heatedly.  Bilbo and the other Dwarves watched on uncomfortably, although they could hear snippets on how their current location was not safe, how they should take refuge in the Hidden Valley with the Elves, and how the missing farmer that Gandalf visited earlier in the year was a bad omen.

Bilbo had to admit that the wizard had a point.  The arson against the farmhouse was still relatively fresh, with the Hobbit being able to detect the faintest odors of smoke that still lingered amongst the neighboring trees (along with another rancid stench that none of them could identify).  The various crops of vegetables from the meager garden were absolutely ruined and smashed with massive footprint indentations in the dirt and soil surrounding the area, but to Dwalin and Glóin’s slight concern, they couldn’t recognize the markings (other than they were too big to belong to a man or Orc).  Nori and Fíli commented in hushed tones that in order to cause so much destruction to a farm, it could not have been the work of a single person.  And the fact that it was so creepily quiet all around the forest made the hairs on Bilbo’s neck stand on end.  No birds chirping, no sounds of insects or bees, no crickets: it was as if all of Nature had been struck dumb….

Huffing and muttering under his breath, Gandalf stomped by, catching Bilbo completely by surprise and snapping him out of his ponderings.  Thorin made no move to follow him, uttering a command to Dwalin to begin setting up camp.

“Everything alright?  Gandalf, where are you going?” Bilbo stammered in confusion.

“To seek the company of the only one around here who’s got any sense,” declared Gandalf with aggravation.

“Who’s that?”

“ ** _Myself_** , Mister Baggins!  I’ve had enough of dwarves for one day.”

Despite the Hobbit’s pleas, Gandalf trudged ahead, clearly incensed and fuming (and Bilbo was quite sure the Gray Wizard was muttering something about where Thorin could particularly stick his stubborn attitude).  Bilbo felt his anxiety skyrocket; Thorin may have control of his Company, but Lion-O’s safety was first and foremost.

Bilbo ran to Thorin as Lion-O uncomfortably watched, wincing.  This was not going to end well.

“What is it, Halfling?” growled Thorin, not even bothering to turn around.

“Thorin, do not let Gandalf leave!  Please, just apologize to him!” Bilbo asked.

The look Thorin threw at Bilbo was the deepest form of cold disdain.

“I do not apologize, Halfling…I did nothing wrong.”

“Fine, then just ask him to not leave and see if you can both compromise.”

“I will not trust the wizard’s advice, grocer.”

To Bilbo’s credit, he merely shrugged off the insult.

“Why not?  Your father trusted him to give you the map and key to Erebor.  I trust Gandalf enough to be Lion-O’s godfather.”

Thorin narrowly bit back his retort on what _exactly_ what was his opinion of Gandalf being paternal to a “housecat” as he then exploded.

“He wanted us to go to the Elves!  **_Elves!_**   After he knows how we were betrayed by them when Smaug laid waste to our home!”

“…I thought the Elves that betrayed you were led by a King Thraunduil.  Not Master Elrond of Imladris, correct?” Bilbo asked innocently, titling his head in confusion.

Thorin twitched, his face flushed with a faint tone of purple before he sidetracked doggedly.

“Are you questioning my orders, Mister Baggins?” growled Thorin, adding venom on the last two words.

He expected Bilbo to fold over and simper in his apologies, like all the other self-serving and selfish Dwarves and Men he had encountered in his life.

So Thorin Oakenshield actually blinked in rude surprise as Bilbo stood up and bit straighter and resolutely looked directly into the Dwarf’s eyes.

“With all due respect, Master Oakenshield, I am.  I do not wish to endanger anyone in the Company or my son.  If Gandalf thinks that we can find help in the Hidden Valley and that our current whereabouts are not out of harm's way, then perhaps we should trust his judgment.  I’d rather we all be safe.”

Thorin actually stiffened and bristled, his face burning.

“Then go follow after the damned wizard and go run back to warm beds and comfort.  Both you and your Housecat,” spat Thorin in defense as he irately stomped forward, rudely shoving past Bilbo and purposefully bumping him aside.  Frustrated, Bilbo tried to get the Dwarf King to listen.

“Thorin, please!” Bilbo implored, “See Gandalf’s reasoning!  Do you want to risk your nephews’ lives?  Your own?”

Thorin’s voice was cold enough to curdle milk as he gave an icy glare.

“ ** _Halfling, release my arm_**.”

Bilbo blinked before he looked down and realized that in his desperation to get Thorin to listen, he was grabbing onto the Dwarf’s bicep.  His very well-toned, muscular and bulging bicep that could be felt underneath the fur-coat.  Blushing and stammering, Bilbo quickly flinched his hand back, his heart skipping a beat as he felt his face grow hot…

With that, Thorin strode away.  Bilbo just wordlessly looked on with worry.

  
[Art by Jess Deaton](http://jessdeaton.deviantart.com)

* * *

That night, Lion-O made a noticeable effort to try to make up for his mistake last night.  He volunteered to help Bilbo, Dori and Ori get water for the ponies and rub-down the sweat off their pelts with a burlap sack (which Dori and Ori both appreciated and Lion-O had to admit that enjoyed looking at the ponies like affectionate pets as Bilbo fed one pony an apple).  He volunteered to help clear out the space around for the fire pit and set the stones accordingly to Balin’s instruction (he only made two _slight_ mistakes and suffered a slight bit of singed fur, much to Balin’s amused chuckling).  He even volunteered to do latrine duty again, and despite Dwalin getting on his back on not getting the trench perfect, it did not take quite as long as the first night (though it still took over an hour).

Still, if Lion-O expected forgiveness and praise for trying to improve, he was sorely disappointed as Thorin coldly ignored the Thunderian without even giving him a glance or a word.  Even Dwalin guessed why Lion-O was striving to make himself useful as the Dwarf scoffed with tactlessness.

“If you’re thinking digging the latrine pit is going to make you look advantageous for this quest, you’ve got a lot to learn, Young Baggins,” Dwalin lectured roughly as he then ordered, “Collect some firewood around the areas nearby.  Once there’s a nice pile, you can break for dinner.”

Needless to say, Lion-O was melancholy.

Grumbling under his breath, Lion-O spent the next half-hour gathering large branches in his arms, still persistent to get Thorin’s praise, when Kíli and Fíli came crashing through the underbrush, wide-eyed and fearful.  Lion-O blinked at the sweaty horror plastered across their eyes and white pallor.

“Housecat, we have to warn Uncle!  Trolls are close by!” Kíli said in a loud whisper.

“What?!” yelped Lion-O, only to be shushed by Fíli.

“Quiet!” he whispered heatedly as the blond Prince grabbed one of Lion-O’s hands, tugging him forcefully towards the camp, “Do you want to alert them to our whereabouts?!  We have to warn Uncle and the others of the Company!  The Trolls took the ponies and most of our supplies!  Master Boggins is keeping them busy right now!”

“ ** _WHAT?!_** ” roared Lion-O again, actually grabbing the two Durin Princes by the collars of their tunics and brought them close to his face, roaring with growing ire and disbelief, “ ** _What did you just say?!  Where is my father?!_** ”

“He’s with the Trolls!  He’s distracting them so we could get help because we lost the ponies!”

Lion-O swore he felt a vein throb under his eyelid as he came close to having an aneurysm.

“ ** _You.  Sent.  My.  Father.  To.  Fight.  Trolls.  By.  HIMSELF?!_** ” Lion-O growled, each words punctuated with deadly emphasis, shaking both Kíli and Fíli a bit with each syllable.  Upon seeing the rage in the Cat’s face and realizing what he just said, both Fíli and Kíli looked a little sheepish and ashamed.

“Um…well, not fight them, exactly.  More like…burgle from them.  You know, because he is the Company’s Burglar…” Kíli weakly pointed out.

“If my father doesn’t live through this, I will **_murder_** you two!” swore Lion-O furiously as he dropped the two Princes roughly to the ground before demanding, “Where are the Trolls and my father now?!”

“Back there, but we don’t know how much longer Master Boggins can’t keep them distracted!  Or hidden!” Fíli stated with a jerk of his head from the direction they came from, and squinting a bit, Lion-O could just make out the light of another campfire in the darkness of the forest (as well as the fact that some of the surrounding trees had been felled as easily as if they were mere twigs or toothpicks).  Horrific images and visions of Bilbo Baggins being stomped on, ripped apart, or eaten by mammoth, carnivorous Trolls was enough to make Lion-O scream as he sprinted along with Kíli and Fíli.

It was to Thorin and the Company’s great surprise when Kíli, Fíli, and Lion-O barreled through the bushes and shrubbery yelling about Trolls.  Despite Balin and Thorin trying to take charge and get the full story from Kíli and Fíli, Lion-O was unwilling to wait and allow his father to be in further mortal peril.  He quickly grabbed the nearest sword (which was recently polished and resting on a log) before taking off, regardless of the shouts of protest behind him.

“HOUSECAT!” bellowed Thorin in the fading background.

Lion-O ran so quickly that he was almost a blur as he darted amongst the tree trunks and branches with his agility, his sides heaving with a combination of terror and icy dread as he quickly approached the strange campfire in within a minute.  To his dismay and shock, he then got a close-up view of the three Trolls as he came into clear view of their campground.

Trolls.  The fairytales always described them as savage, brainless behemoths that were afraid of light and hunkered underneath bridges while trying to trick goats and children into descending into the shadows so that they could feast on their flesh.

However, fairy tales did **_not_** mention how big Trolls could **_actually_** get.

These Trolls were enormous, more than four times the height of Lion-O, with ugly expressions and massive frames trembling with fat-encased muscle.  Hairless and with jaundiced eyes and drooling mouths filled with flat, misshapen teeth that could grind bones and rocks into paste, and the smell was like rotten meat and sour milk simultaneously going putrid in a terrible, nauseating combination…

Lion-O’s frayed nerves and the coiled fear in his gut then suddenly erased in a whirlwind of outraged ire when he saw a terrified Bilbo Baggins (covered in Troll mucus) was being roughly held in the palm of one Troll, trapped between the grubby fingers.

“Let my father go!” shouted Lion-O with protective anger, brandishing his sword as he grasped it roughly with both hands.  Instead of the expected response of cowering and fright, the Trolls looked positively gleeful.

“Oi, lookie Bert!  There’s something new to eat!” one Troll exclaimed.

“I wonder what giant talking Cat tastes like…” mused another Troll as he got up, intending to amble over and grab his newest victim.

Lion-O’s eyes went wide with panic.

Okay, so much for intimidation and Trolls being a cowardly lot…

Upon seeing that the one monster was still not letting his father go, Lion-O roared as he charged head-on, sword drawn back and ready to slash at full power.  Undaunted and a bit amused, the Troll casually flung a frightened Bilbo aside before lumbering towards the charging teenager.  Without even pausing, the Trolls quickly and deftly caught the sword (and Lion-O’s paws) with a pinching movement between his thumb and forefinger.

Lion-O yowled in pain as he was picked up into the air and left dangling, kicking in the air helplessly as he tried to wrench himself free.  Despite his wriggling and thrashing, the Troll just brought Lion-O close to his nose before sniffing disgustingly.

“He smells better than mutton,” the Troll declared, “And he’s more of a mouthful than that Boggins we just saw.”

This made the other two Trolls very happy as they crowded around.

“I say we should add the Cat to the stew!”

“Oi, Tom!  That ain’t fair!  We’ve boiled that farmer and his family and his sheep for the past five nights!  I’m sick of stew!  We should roast him instead!”

“ **I** caught him, and **I** say how we should cook him!  Let’s try making a pasty for once!”

“You and damn pasties, William!  We don’t have any dough!  Ever think of that, dunderhead?!”

“Lion-O!” yelled Bilbo helplessly as he picked himself off the ground.

“ ** _Let me go!_** ” yowled Lion-O as he tried to buck and sunfish out of the Troll’s hand, but it was like a steel vise, threatening to break his wrist-bones, and already, the Young Baggins could not feel his numb hands.  By Yavanna, why didn’t he bring with him the small clay firework capsules he snuck into his knapsack?

There was a sudden wail as Kíli’s arrow expertly lodged itself into the left eye of the Troll holding Lion-O.  Thorin and the other twelve Dwarves immediately launched an attack on the three giant antagonists.  Within moments, they had their enemy flanked in a pincer movement and slashed with their hammers, swords, and axes at their knees and legs (with Kíli and Ori aiming high with their respective bow and slingshot).  Bilbo was amazed at how coordinated and effectively each one of the Dwarves fought, as if they could read each other’s minds and complement their strikes together in a wondrous harmony.

Enraged and in pain, the Troll flung Lion-O hard into the charging group, causing Lion-O to solidly crash into Dwalin and Bombur upon landing.  Thorin quickly grabbed the sword Lion-O dropped upon his rough landing before leading the charge against the trio of ogres, effectively showing his strategic leadership as the thirteen Dwarves all were slowly yet surely succeeding in fighting and delivering considerable injury without fear or hesitation, the air full of tormented snarls each time a Dwarf drew blood.

Bilbo did his best not to stare as he did his best to stay out of the skirmishes since he had no weapon.  Still, it was promising that they were actually winning as the Trolls roared and did their best to swat and crush their opponents without much success; to Bert, William, and Tom, it was like trying to strike down an entire flying swarm of stinging insects.

It was very possible that they could escape this without death or injury.

Bilbo should have known better than to jinx it.

As a desperate resort and noticing the meek Hobbit from the sidelines, one of the Trolls grabbed Bilbo before he and another Troll held the Company’s Burglar in their sweaty and hands, gripping his limbs and squeezing ever so precariously.

“Lay down your arms, or we’ll rip his off!” William boomed his demand, loudly enough to cause everyone to stop and freeze in dismay.

Bilbo whimpered, his heart getting stuck in his throat and chest, making it difficult for him to breathe as he felt light-headed.  Lion-O became still, white in the face.

“Father…”  
                Automatically, the Cat dropped the tree branch he used as an improvised bludgeon.  Giving a look of aversion and loathing reluctance, Thorin Oakenshield drove the point of his sword downwards and embedded it into the dirt as a sign of surrender.  Upon seeing this, all the other Dwarves in the Company followed suit grudgingly…

* * *

“For the record, this is entirely _your_ fault, you scatterbrained Housecat!” snapped Nori as he, Dori, Ori, Bofur, Bifur, Dwalin, Fíli, and Lion-O were being turned over and over in a wooden spit over the fire, in their underclothes and tied with thick ropes.  Bilbo, Thorin, Glóin, Óin, Balin, Bombur, and Kíli were all tied in sacks nearby, unable to do anything except wiggle and watch their comrades and family be lowered into the flames.

“For once, I actually agree with the thief!” Dwalin added as he tried his best to wriggle out of the ropes, but he was lashed too tightly with the other Dwarves on the rotating mast.  As dim as these Trolls seemed, there was no question that the monsters knew how to make sure their prey could not escape.  He then blinked as he noticed Lion-O plucking away frantically at the ropes with his claws, scratching and fraying them bit by bit.

“Lion-O, hurry!” hissed Ori as the heat was getting unbearable, his skin tingling with agony.  Lion-O winced as his fur was getting scorched excruciatingly, close to blistering.

“The ropes are too thick.  Give me some time…” Lion-O muttered as loud as he could dare without attracting their captors’ attention.

“Oh, jolly good to hear, Young Baggins.  Do not mind us, being slowly burned and charred to death then.  By all means, keep your own pace,” Dori drawled in deadpanned sarcasm.

“I don’t have my hat…” wailed a bare-headed Bofur as he was spun around and around (which earned him dirty looks from all of the other Dwarves).

“ ** _That’s_ what you’re worried about?!**” screeched Fíli.

“It’s my favorite hat…” Bofur stated mulishly, sniffing.

“Then how about this: if I find your hat, I’ll stuff it down your bloody throat!” snapped Dwalin.  Bofur managed to look affronted while hanging upside down.

“No need to get snippy.”

“Oh, I am not snippy.  I’m **_frustrated_** that we are going to die and be eaten!”

Meanwhile, the Trolls began arguing over how to season their latest bounty, with Tom and Bert declaring whether thyme or sage would be better with roasted flesh.  William conked them both upside their fat, bald heads.

“Never mind the seasoning; we ain’t got all night!  Dawn ain’t far away, so let’s get a move on.  I don’t fancy being turned to stone.”

“Wait! You are making a terrible mistake!”

All three of the Trolls turned to see Bilbo, white-faced and terrified but still managing to look upwards with typical politeness directly in the eye before Bilbo spoke up without the slightest tremor in his voice.  Bilbo spoke again.

“Yes, I’m telling you, the secret is…to skin them first!”

There was a horrified pause through all the Dwarves and Lion-O before one of the Trolls nodded at the one who was managing the spit above the fire.

“Tom, get me the filleting knife.”

All the other Dwarves yelled and protested and threw various threats towards Bilbo, saying _exactly_ what they would do to the Hobbit the minute they got their hands on him, but both Lion-O and Thorin then immediately realized what Bilbo was attempting.  Lion-O began scratching at the ropes even harder as Thorin not-so-subtly kicked at Balin and Kíli nearby in order to play along.

“I’ve got parasites as big as my arm!”

“Mine are the **biggest** parasites!  I’ve got **_huge_** parasites!”

“We’re riddled.”

“Yes, I’m riddled.”

“Yes we are.  **_Badly!_** ”

“Some of us more than others…”

“Fundinson, if you could see my hand right now, then you’d spot _exactly_ what my response is to that one.”

And it went on and on like this for a while, with the three Trolls whopping their heads back and forth trying to keep track of the banter and arguments that they were all starting to gain a collective headache.  Though they managed to stall for several minutes, it was still too early for dawn’s approach as one of the Trolls then grasped Bilbo Baggins’ real objective.

“You think I don’t know what you’re up to?  This little ferret is taking us for fools!” snarled Tom as the giant then grabbed Bilbo with one hand, intent on squeezing the Hobbit hard enough to render him into a gory mess of pulp and broken bones.

Thorin had a look of alarm etched on his face as his eyes grew wide as immediately some of the Dwarves started protesting and pleading for Tom to stop, with Lion-O being the most reactive.

“ **NO!** ” yelled Lion-O, distraught.

Just as Tom prepared to crush Bilbo to death with one squeeze…

It was amazing that despite the cries, pleading, and various commotions in the Trolls’ camp, the faint notes of an enchanting and poignant music was still hearkened above the din.

“Is…do I hear **music**?” Balin asked out loud in disbelief, his eyes going wide.

“By Mahal, you must…be…hallucinating…” Glóin barked before he trailed off upon realizing at the sudden lull of the shouting, the Dwarf advisor was actually correct.  All of the Dwarves and the Trolls could hear the distinct, tinny harmony of some sort of whistle or pipe, playing vibrantly a melody that was not unlike any sort of harmonious noises they had encountered before in their lives.  Even Bofur, who was a jaunty expert with his flute, was dumbstruck over the mesmerizing harmony.

Óin, not surprisingly, barked out, “What in the name of Mahal’s forge are you halfwits talking about?!  **I** don’t hear anything!”

“Can I punch Óin?” groaned Dwalin from the firepit, “Please, anyone, tell me I can hit him.”

To everyone’s shock, the tune was having a rather startling influence on the Trolls themselves as their faces melted into dreamy, faraway, and inattentive expressions, dumb and oblivious to everything in the world.  Tom then knelt down and gently set Bilbo back with the other tied up Dwarves before intently listening to the music again.

An entire army of Dwarves could have started attacking them right then and there, and the behemoths would still do nothing but stare at nothing in the air with stupefied smiles on their faces.  It was as if the three Trolls had completely lost their minds.

“That music…” drawled Bert.

“It’s lovely…” sighed Tom, drool dripping out of his agape mouth.

“As the night is long…” William finished in a tone of reverence as the Trolls began swaying back and forth in tune with the minstrelsy, with Bert actually attempting to dance as he flailed his arms about lopsidedly as if he were drunk (and accidentally coming close to trampling on Bilbo, Thorin and the other Dwarves tied in the sacks).

To say that Thorin and Company were puzzled was an understatement.

“…am I hallucinating or is this actually occurring?” Bombur blinked, his jaw slightly dropped from the astonishing spectacle.

“I have never seen a Troll act like this before…” Dori confessed, wide-eyed and extremely uncomfortable (he was embarrassed enough for all three of the Trolls). 

Bifur was wondering if perhaps he had been hit harder than he thought.

“It’s Gandalf!” Fíli sighed in relief, “There’s no way this isn’t one of the wizard’s tricks!”

“Then where is he?” Bombur returned, craning his neck and trying to spot the wizard in the background.  One would think this would be an excellent time to make a dramatic entrance…

The spell of amused bewilderment was broken however when Ori, Fíli, and Bofur started yelping out in pain.  Apparently, because William was no longer minding the wooden spit, it ceased in its gyrations, but unfortunately, it also left the poor aforementioned Dwarves stuck and at the bottom, being the closest to the fire.

“Ow!  _Hot, hot, hot!_   By Mahal!  Get us out!  **Yeow!** ” Fíli, Bofur, and Ori all yelped and cried out at various intervals.  Alarmed, several of the Dwarves tried to yank themselves out of the bags the Trolls has encased them in (with Bilbo, Thorin, and Kíli trying their hardest), but they were stuck as tightly as ever and helpless.  There was no way any of them could successfully reach the fire and free their comrades.

“Fíli!” screamed Kíli, hysterical at being unable to do anything but helplessly watch his brother get burned to death.  The dark-haired Prince prayed frenziedly in his head for Mahal to something, **anything** , to save Fíli.

_Thunk!_

Something flashed and glinted against the light of the campfire before something metallic hit and embedded itself against one end of the wooden spit that the Trolls’ captives were tied to.  Bifur, who was closest to the sudden appearance of the ringed hook, frowned as he saw something metallic attached to a silver, taut rope…

“What - ?!” blurted out Dori before with a sudden yank, the wooden spit fell out of the wooden stakes supporting it above the flames, causing the entire log to be jerked away from the fire.  With a massive thud and crash, Nori, Dori, Ori, Fíli, Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, and Lion-O were safely pulled from the fire.

Nori narrowed his eyes as the silver grapple released its hold and disappeared amongst the thicket and shadows.  He spotted the strange appearance along with Bifur, and it would be a cold day in Mordor before anything escaped thief’s rapt attention and sharp eyes.  It transpired far too quickly, but from what little Nori saw, it was the oddest hook he had ever seen …

“ ** _THE DAWN WILL TAKE YOU ALL!_** ” roared Gandalf, popping out of the blue like a jack-in-the-box, as he then broke the bolder he was standing on, allowing the first rays of the sun to shine and illuminate the three Trolls directly at full intensity.

In a morbidly funny sort of sense, Bert, William, and Tom were all still entranced under the haunting music as the sun turned them all into stone in mere seconds.  Spellbound, they uttered their last words.

“The sun hurts…” Tom wheezed.

“But the music is so beautiful…” William sighed as he smiled.

“At least we can die happy…” Bert rasped as his flesh solidified.

Within minutes, there was nothing left of the Trolls except three giant, cracked statues of thick, gray stone, lifeless and now dead to the world.  Funnily enough, the oversized sculptures were still displaying the punch-drunk faces with big, toothy smiles and fuddled miens.  However, unlike Bilbo and the other Dwarves, Nori’s attention diverted elsewhere as he then spotted two small figures dart away from the campgrounds, acrobatically swinging on the branches and swiftly jumping on the tree trunks like…

Nori blinked as the two strangers disappeared.

He **had** to have been hallucinating.  Did their mysterious saviors have - ?

In a blank of an eye, the individuals had completely vanished amongst the foliage, leaving a wide-eyed Nori rather speechless.

Meanwhile, Dori sighed with relief.

“Thank Mahal you were able to hypnotize the Trolls with that eccentric melody, Gandalf!  You saved our lives!” the Dwarf remarked, grateful and very appreciative (well, as appreciative as one can be while lashed to a tree trunk and with one’s face in the dirt).

Gandalf seemed a bit perturbed as he raised an eyebrow before he then confessed gravely, “Master Dori, as much as I would love to admit that you Dwarves thank me far less than I deserve, this is actually gratuitous.  I arrived far too late.  It was not I who saved you.”

Everyone blinked, startled by that admission.  Nori blinked before he darted his eyes back at where he saw the saviors vanish before casting a suspicious and beady look at Lion-O.

As Gandalf finished freeing the other Dwarves, the instant he could escape from his sack, Bilbo immediately went to his son who was rubbing his raw wrists, still bruised from when the Troll dangled him in the air.  Lion-O apparently had the same feelings of vexation.

“Are you all right?” Lion-O asked worriedly as he knelt down towards his parent.  Bilbo offered a shaky smile.

“I was about to ask you the same, my son…” he exhaled wearily as he gingerly touched the rope burns and cuts on Lion-O’s arms.  Yet the tender moment was brought to a screeching and dramatic halt as Thorin rudely shoved Bilbo to the side before grabbing Lion-O by the collar of his shirt and yanking him down roughly at eye level.

Lion-O was at a loss of words when he saw the look of seething rage in Thorin’s eyes as he yelled directly into the young teen’s face.

“You took my sword!”

Lion-O blinked before he realized that the Dwarf King was referring to the bronze sword the monarch was currently holding in one tightly-clenched fist.

“I…I don’t understand…” Lion-O confessed weakly.  That admission just made Thorin past the point of choleric as his face and nose became a deep crimson, with one side of his clenched jaw grinding his teeth together quite audibly.

“A sword is sacred to a warrior!  It is a part of a Dwarf, a part of their soul and represents their being and their identity!  To take and wield a Dwarf’s weapon without permission is a grievous sign of disrespect!  And you simply purloined my sword to fight the Trolls and nearly got all of us killed!  Without my sword, I had no weapon to fight with, and thus would not have been able to save the both of you!  You acted without thinking about how your actions would compromise everyone in the Company, you idiot!”

Lion-O’s eyes widened as he realized the reason why Thorin was especially furious.

“I – I’m sorry!” Lion-O tried to say, “I just needed something to save my Father - ”

The dark-haired Dwarf then shook Lion-O roughly, nearly causing his neck to snap due to the whiplash, as the strong, barrel-chested Thorin, honed from years of working in the forge and battlefield, made his point violently.

**“I DO NOT WANT ANY OF YOUR EXCUSES, YOUNG BAGGINS!  NEVER!  TAKE!  ANOTHER’S!  SWORD! _IS THAT CLEAR?!_** ”

Lion-O felt his face burn as he noticed that everyone, the Dwarves, Gandalf, even Bilbo, were just staring at the two of them, with various degrees of surprise, discomfort, and smug concurrence in Thorin’s outburst.  Right now, as of this moment, Lion-O wanted to just go hide under a rock, wishing he wasn’t being lectured in front of an audience.

“Yes, Thorin,” mumbled Lion-O, doing his best to not choke as he felt his face and eyes sting with humiliation, but Thorin wasn’t done yet as he growled.

“Do **_not_** refer to me by my name, Housecat.”

Bilbo was absolutely beside himself with anger and shocked indignation.  Yes, Lion-O made a mistake, but to be so rude and vulgar…

“…yes, Master Oakenshield.”

Satisfied but still irate, Thorin then released Lion-O before rounding on Bilbo, his voice darker and arctic.

“And as for **you** , Halfling!  Care to explain whatever possessed you as to be so foolhardy to try facing three Trolls by yourself?”

Bilbo met Thorin’s glare with his own, although it softened a bit as he decided it would do no good to get Fíli and Kíli in trouble with their own Uncle for their accidental oversight.  As his mother always said, no one really appreciates a tattletale.  Bilbo exhaled wearily through his nose before he flippantly gave his answer.

“I was merely trying to get the ponies back.  I thought we would be at an extreme disadvantage if the Trolls stole our transportation and supplies.  I wanted to get back what the Trolls stole from us, like a true Burglar as your yourself seem to be conveniently forgetting the role you hired me as.  That is all.”

Both of the Durin Princes’ eyes went wide as their heads shot up with moved astonishment while Lion-O’s was more of an outraged tone.  He was no fool in seeing what his father was trying to do, but he’d be damned if he let his father suffer Thorin’s wrath for someone else’s mistake.  Especially since Thorin clearly did not appreciate the glib in Bilbo’s response as his brows furrowed, looking like he was about to grasp Bilbo by the shoulders and shake the Hobbit as well.

Yet before Lion-O could open his mouth to speak for his parent’s defense, remarkably, Fíli beat him to the punch.

“No, Uncle,” piped up Fíli as he and Kíli as the two young Dwarves stepped up, pleading, “It was **_our_** fault.  Lion-O and Master Baggins were simply covering for us.  It was **_our_** fault that we lost the ponies and encouraged Master Baggins to try to burgle from the Trolls.  We should have been watching our supplies, and we allowed ourselves to be distracted and lost everything.  We both caused this entire mess.  The blame lies with us for dragging the Bagginses in our imprudent plan.”

“We’re truly sorry, Uncle.  Both of us,” confessed Kíli, chiming in as he scuffled nervously.

Thorin turned purple as he glared at his nephews (causing them to shrink and wither) before he declared with disapproval and angered disenchantment.

“I expected such behavior from a simpleton and his fool of a pet from the Shire,” Thorin spat, “But you two **_certainly_** know better than that.”

Bilbo’s brow furrowed as he felt his cheeks flare up.  Of all the arrogant, boorish, disrespectful - !

“I beg your pardon…” huffed Bilbo, hoping Thorin would take the hint about his behavior towards his son, but that only just exacerbated the tension as the Dwarf King threw Bilbo an annoyed glare.

“Just stay here, the both of you.  You and your Housecat would cause less damage in the Troll Cave if you were outside,” Thorin growled before he stomped off, joining Dwalin as he and the others reacted with curious and budding anticipation at Gandalf’s discovery of the Trolls’ hideout in the nearby hillside.  As the other Dwarves nervously left (with one or two giving sympathetic glances), Bilbo fumed and irately muttered in outrage over Thorin’s abominable behavior.

“That stubborn, pig-headed - !  Ooh!  Confounded that arrogant Dwarf King!  He makes me so angry!  I cannot believe he did that in front of Gandalf and everyone, as if he wanted to shame the both of us!  That…that…Dwarf!” Bilbo raged.

It took a minute or two of silent fuming before Bilbo then noticed his son was uncharacteristically silent, and he glanced to find to his worried surprise to find Lion-O wiping his watering eyes, still embarrassed from Thorin’s public defamation.

“Lion-O…” murmured Bilbo as he squeezed his son’s hand, but Lion-O hurriedly gave his rebuttal.

“It’s nothing.  Master Oakenshield was right to call me out on my mistakes…” Lion-O muttered thickly, glad his eyes stopped stinging.  He was **not** crying.  Heroes in the fairy tales **never** cried…

Bilbo’s voice then became stern as he then lectured, “Oh!  That reminds me!”

“Ow!” yelped Lion-O at the sudden and painful pinch Bilbo delivered to his son’s arm before the Hobbit severely addressed his son’s antics.

“What in the name of Yavanna were you thinking?!  You could have gotten killed!”

“I didn’t want **you** to get killed!  I was trying to rescue you!”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“What was I supposed to do?!  Let them kill you?!”

“If it means keeping you safe, then yes!”

“Well, guess what, _Master Burglar_?  I wholeheartedly disagree!”

“Don’t take that tone of voice with me, young man!  I am not above grounding you on this reckless adventure - !”

There was a pause before Lion-O and Bilbo realized that they had an audience.

“…Gandalf, do you mind?  This is a private affair,” Bilbo retorted.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account.  I love seeing pointless family squabbles.  They’re quite entertaining,” Gandalf smiled annoyingly underneath his beard, which earned him dirty looks from both of the Bagginses.  Still, the appearance of the wizard got them to stop arguing at least as Gandalf then brought forth one of the objects he was carrying in his hands.

“I bring gifts.  This should be your size, Bilbo.”

Gandalf then offered an exquisite short sword to Bilbo (although to Gandalf and Lion-O, it was more of a dagger), a blade that shone brighter than silver with a mahogany handle twisted with metal and a carving of a leafy vine on the edges.  Lion-O’s eyes were wide with excitement while the Hobbit patriarch sputtered.

“I can’t take this.”

“The blade is of Elvish make which means it will glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby,” Gandalf informed him, “And it will be good to have a armament to defend yourself with in the presence of enemies.”

“I have never used a sword in my life.”

Gandalf gave Bilbo a sad and grave look as he made his next point quite solemnly to both the Hobbit and the Thunderian.

“And I hope you never have to.  But if you do, remember this: true courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one.”

Bilbo was silent as he pondered the heavy meaning of the words, which was then promptly broken by a rather eager Lion-O.

“What sword do I get, Master Gandalf?!” Lion-O chimed in expectantly.  Bilbo rolled his eyes at the enthusiasm; if there was ever proof that stupidity of youth was extremely short-sighted and oblivious…

Gandalf’s face was blank as he then handed Lion-O the shabbiest and ugliest sword the teenager had ever seen.  It was nowhere of flawless of a make and model as Bilbo’s Elvish weapon, clearly made by the race of Men and rusty with a few cobwebs clinging to the surface.  Granted, it was the perfect size and weight for Lion-O, and the teenager could manage to hold it without much difficulty in one hand.  However, the steel blade was chipped, with several deep notches on the edges and fuller portions.  The grip was wrapped with coarse and frayed leather hide which was starting to fall apart, and at the end of the hilt was a misshapen ball of metal covered with grime and dried blood that served as the pommelstone.

Lion-O was speechless, thinking his godfather was playing a rather cruel joke on him.

A few of the other Dwarves, who emerged from the Trolls’ cave with some newly gained food, water caskets, and gold, were clearly thinking of the same thought at the sight of the piece of junk.  Ori even poked his brother Nori in the side gently before whispering discreetly, “Is Tharkûn punishing Lion-O for some reason?”

“Gandalf, you cannot be serious,” Lion-O protested, his cheeks growing red.  Gandalf’s appearance was quite solemn, however.

“Lion-O, though you do need a weapon to defend yourself, none of the swords in the Troll Cave are meant for you.  Until you find the weapon you are destined for, this will be an adequate substitute.”

“That’s not fair!” roared Lion-O a second time, now showing his temper, “I should get a better sword than this!”

The lion made a move to stomp over to the Troll Cave and find a better sword, but he was immediately blocked by Gandalf’s staff as it crossed over the Cat’s chest.  Lion-O was about to dissent, but then he noticed the stormy and thunderous expression on the wizard’s face, clearly incensed.  Gandalf then used his magic in the same manner when addressing the Dwarves’ protests in Bag End as his aura grew over ten-fold, encompassing the air around them into a cold fog, heavy and difficult to breathe, while Gandalf’s reprimand vibrated into Lion-O’s flesh and bone powerfully.

“ **That is enough, Lion-O!**   If I say that you are not meant for any of the swords in that cave, then you must trust my advice!  I cannot give you a sword if you do not know how to use it!  Rather than letting you hurt yourself or hurt someone else, you should realize that the sword is only as good as its master.  An Elvish sword would be useless to you if you do not know how to fight with it!”

Bilbo quietly and soothingly pointed out, “Lion-O, trust Gandalf.  He has never lied to you before.”

Watching this, Thorin wasn’t sure whether to scoff in disbelief or respect the fact that Bilbo was an effective peacemaker.

Dwalin then broke the unease as he stepped forward before giving Lion-O a skeptical look and doubtful gaze and gruffly asked, “You even know how to use a sword, Lion-O?”

“It can’t be that hard!” derided Lion-O as he then made a series of wild swings and jabs, trying to show Dwalin he knew exactly how to use a blade.  Still, as the seconds of the display carried out, it was apparent to everyone (even Bilbo) that Lion-O truly was inexperienced.  His movements were rough and jerky, going in various directions with no sense of purpose or control.  Dwalin noted that the teen was planting his feet in the ground, causing strain to Lion-O’s own knees, and his movements were bulky, slow, and cumbersome.  Lion-O was going to easily tire himself out within minutes.  And as much as the Dwarf Glóin was starting to like Lion-O, he inwardly winced at seeing Lion-O’s antics embarrassing himself and digging the proverbial hole deeper.

“This is painful to watch,” Bofur murmured.

“But entertaining,” smirked Nori (which earned a dirty look of reprimand from Ori).

Panting but high on adrenaline, Lion-O offered a triumphant smile, holding his sword out and pointed at Dwalin.  Lion-O bragged, “See?”

Wordlessly and his face set like cold stone, the burly Dwarf guard took out his axe Keeper (which was lashed to his back).  In a practiced and fluid movement so fast that Lion-O would have missed it if he blinked, Dwalin effortlessly hooked and caught the blade of Lion-O’s sword with the axe, wedging it between the head and the handle.  Without even grunting, Dwalin ripped the sword out of Lion-O’s hands and tossed it away, causing the weapon to embed its tip into the nearest tree trunk.

Bifur couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry at the look of devastated astonishment on Lion-O’s face as it dawned on him.

Dwalin summed it, deadpanned.

“You’re an idiot.  And you need training.  Now quit whining, pick up your sword, and get going.”

Lion-O let out a frustrated groan.

This journey was off to a **_wonderful_** start…

* * *

“…and so that’s how we saved them from the Trolls,” finished the young Wilykat as he and his sister stood before King Claudus and the attentive audience of Cats, all of whom were listening on their word with rapt interest and calculation.  Nayda of the Amazons then asked with suspicion.

“Did Lion-O or any of the Dwarves see you?”

“We don’t think so, although it was kinda hard to remain hidden when we intervened to stop those Trolls from eating them,” Wilykit confessed, her tail twitching back and forth nervously as Grune, Lynx-O, and Panthro all frowned at the two Wilykittens.

“You were supposed to be more careful,” Panthro lectured sternly, his brows furrowed together.  Both Wilykit and Wilykat withered under the severe and demanding stare from the Thunderian officer.

“General Panthro, it probably could not be helped, especially since Lion-O’s life was at stake…” Jaga intervened for the two spies’ defense, bringing some ease to Wilykit and Wilykat’s trepidation.  Despite the logic, there were a few grumbles of discontent here and there (much to Jaga’s unease).

Jaga smiled as he then asked softly, “And how was the spell from the Clarifying Staff of Knowledge?”

“It definitely worked!” the two Cat children cheered.

“No matter what language they spoke, we could understand and hear everything!” Wilykit said excitedly.

“Like how Dwarves value their hair and their beards as a symbol of their status!  Even Dwarf _women_ have beards!” Wilykat added enthusiastically.

“How there’s a forest Kingdom called Greenwood that is ruled by the Elf King, Thranduil…although that big Dwarf Dwalin said that they hated Elves, now that I think about it.”

“I can’t say I blame them.  That _was_ a pretty rotten thing to do to them.”

“I personally loved that one Dwarf retelling the Battle of Azanulbizar!  That was so amazing!”

“Pfft!  That Azog the Orc doesn’t sound even the least bit scary!  Mumm-Ra would have him crying like a baby in a minute.  **At most.** ”

“How about the secret that Ori Dwarf said about Dwarves having two names?”

“Kíli and Fíli are actually pretty funny.  It’s nice to see not all of those Dwarves are boring adults.”

“We also learned the God of the Dwarves is called Mahal and is rumored to forge the Dwarves from stone during this world’s creation.”

“Oh yeah!  We also saw your friend, Jaga!  The weird wizard in the gray robe and hat!  His name is apparently Gandalf in this world!  Although…he doesn’t seem that powerful.  He didn’t even know we were spying on them, and we’ve been tailing them ever since they arrived at the Shire.”

“Maybe he’s smoking more than just tobacco in that pipe of his if you get my drift.”

“ _Children…_ ” interrupted Lynxana forcefully, already starting to feel a headache, “What about Lion-O?  Anything else to report on him?  Besides his soft life in the village with these Halflings?”

There was a slight pause as both the Wilkykittens looked at each other before they gave their truthful opinions.

“He isn’t really built for fighting, and he has never traveled outside the Shire before in his life.  I don’t think he’s ever picked up a sword after seeing him try to fight the Trolls head-on, and even Gandalf never said when Lion-O’s sight beyond sight would eventually kick in.  If you want my opinion, I think the Lost Prince is a little…well…”

Wilykat hesitated as he tried to find the least offensive word to sum up his feelings.

“…naïve.”

This was met with some faint groans and Lynx-O resentfully muttering under his breath how they were all doomed considering that Thundera’s fate was in the hands of an idiot.

“But he **_is_** kinda cute,” Wilykit admitted a bit louder than she liked, her eyes going slightly dreamy.

“Sis!” groaned Wilykat, covering his eyes with one hand in embarrassment.  It was then that Claudus showed his impatience with a single growl, deep and vibrant enough to get the Council’s attention.

“ ** _Enough._** ”

The two child thieves both instantly stood at attention, their tails perked up and slightly prickling with fear and alarm as both of the Wilykittens automatically and unconsciously grabbed at each other’s hands.

King Claudus rumbled, casting a stern glare on Wilykit and Wilykat, “I am not interested in hearing about that.  Tell me more about this…Erebor…”


	7. Silverhawks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that images for this chapter are referenced and sourced from TheOneRing.net and Dan Norton's [DA account](http://dannortonart.deviantart.com/). Many thanks.

                “Yes, my Lords?” Mumm-Ra whispered in a cordial and submissive tone as he kneeled on the cold stone ground.  The only light in the murky cave of the Earth Eaters came from the ring of crude candles fluttering in the wind, with the waxy stubs placed in a circle all around Mumm-Ra and glowing in a faint blue light.

                The four demons looked down, their red eyes illuminating the servant with their hellish luminosity.

                “ ** _You have done well in acquiring the Orcs_** ,” the Jackal intoned.

                “ ** _Now, we go to the next phase of our plan_** ,” the Ape commanded.

                “ ** _Have General Vultaire lead a group of his swiftest Birds and await our instructions for Lion-O and Thorin Oakenshield’s Company_** ,” the Lizard said.

                “Do we have protection against the wizards and other races of this world?” Mumm-Ra asked, bowing lower and trying to show his concern at ensuring that their schemes succeeded, “They may be alarmed if they spot us and attack accordingly if we leave the tunnels.”

                “ ** _We decided that may indeed be fortuitous if that is the case_** ,” the Bird declared, “ ** _The resulting havoc and panic_ will _work in our favor.  Now go._** ”

                The mummy in the red cloak had the briefest thought that this was a rather odd turn of events.

                Why bother hiding Azog and his army underground and clandestinely sneak into Middle Earth to not raise suspicion only to bring out the Birdmen in the middle of broad daylight?

                Mumm-Ra immediately suppressed the deliberation.  If it meant finally getting revenge on the Cats and obtaining true power…

                “My Lords, I will carry out your orders.  However, our presence will also alert King Claudus and the other Thundercats.  They may be forced to act in desperation.”

                The aura from the Ancient Spirits of Evil emanated like a steady pulse, pleased, satisfied, and almost gleefully anticipating…

                “ **Exactly.** ”

* * *

                “Oh come now, Lion-O!  It wasn’t _that_ bad!  No one got hurt, and you’re only a beginner at this entire fighting-for-one’s-life business!” Fíli tried to comfort the Cat humanoid (while failing to hide his chuckling) as he and Kíli they rode alongside both the Bagginses.  It was early next morning after the Troll incident, and the entire Company was riding East towards the Misty Mountains, with Balin and Gandalf leading the way.

                Things were still a bit dismal however.  Bifur and Bombur were still not speaking to Lion-O.  Dori’s henpecking and fussing over his little brother Ori was getting on said Ori’s nerves, and the Dwarf scribe was coming close to punching his older brother directly in his fat nose.  Kíli and Fíli were both attempting to joke around with Bilbo and Lion-O about the entire Troll debacle, attempting to lighten the mood.  Unfortunately, they were making things worse as Lion-O’s blood and temper boiled with each muffled giggle and choked laugh.

                And to add insult to injury, it was clear that a good portion of the Company (including Thorin) had less than tolerant feelings about the teenage Cat as they kept a good distance from him, silently blaming Lion-O for nearly getting them slain.  Chagrined, Lion-O stubbornly stuck to the hope that if Thorin Oakenshield could forgive him and warm up to him, then he could finally be admired and revered as a hero like the Dwarf King…

                “All right, all right, so it could have gone better, but no one was hurt or killed!  Except perhaps your pride when Uncle gave you that dressing down in front of everyone,” Kíli offered, smiling so widely his dimples were showing.

                Bilbo felt his worry spike up when Lion-O’s body tense and the Young Baggins gripped his reins so hard, his knuckles turned white.

                “We added to our food supplies and found an impressive cache of gold when we return!  And Uncle got a fantastic sword from the First Age!  Granted, it’s made from the Tree-Shaggers, but still, I have to admit it’s a far more impressive sight than the sword Gandalf gave you,” Fíli stated, snickering at the memory of the rusty weapon bequeathed to the Thunderian.

                His vision was starting to slowly but surely blur with red as Lion-O did his best to keep a hold on his raging temper that was going to boil over with _one more_ verbal rib…

                “I have to admit, even though we gave the signal to your father, you did a rather excellent imitation of a screech owl when you screamed - !” Kíli started, only to be cut off by a growl from a rather red-faced Lion-O.

                “If I hear _one more word_ from either of you rapscallions,” growled Lion-O deeply, his eyes flashing as one hand balled into a fist, “I will use my sword to cut the hair off your heads.  **Both of you.** ”

                Bilbo frowned while both Kíli and Fíli went pale.

                “You wouldn’t…” squeaked Kíli as his hands unconsciously and instinctively clutched his mane of dark brown protectively.  Lion-O just growled, showing his canines.  Heinous threat or not, he was absolutely done with Fíli and Kíli.

                Thankfully, Bilbo settled matter quickly.

                “Lion-O Baggins, apologize.”

                “But Father - !” protested Lion-O, shocked that his father wasn’t taking his side on this whole irritant.  A stern look from Bilbo quickly shut down the argument that was about to spew out of the teenager’s mouth.

                “ **Now.** ”

                Red-faced and ears dropping in resentment, Lion-O swallowed before he jerkily bowed towards the two Durin Princes and muttered ruefully, “My apologies for threatening to shave your heads.  I will not repeat it again.”

                Kíli and Fíli both smugly grinned at each other, but before they could gloat and rub salt in Lion-O’s wounds, they were completely taken aback as Bilbo gave both of the young Dwarves a baleful look.

                “Kíli, Fíli, you two apologize as well.”

                “ ** _What?!_** ” yelped Kíli.

                “But…but that’s not fair, Mister Boggins!” Fíli complained, not caring how immature and childish that protest just sounded.

                Bilbo was entirely unsympathetic as he stated, “You two have started the teasing, and you both will simply have to be the ones to finish it.”

                “What if I say no?” challenged Fíli haughtily.

                “What if we _both_ say no, Mister Boggins?” Kíli said with an impish smile and one eyebrow raised challengingly.

                Bilbo leveled both of the warriors with an embellished disappointed look.

                “I guess I gave you two too much credit to think that as Dwarven royalty, you would know when to apologize and show humility like all noble Princes.  Especially after all the hospitality we have shown the two of you in Bag End at the Shire.  Yavanna only knows how long I needed to clean the mud off my mother’s glory box,” sighed Bilbo.

                Suddenly, Fíli and Kíli both looked a little uncomfortable.  Bilbo then decided to wickedly twist the proverbial knife a bit further…

                “I would have to wonder how your Uncle and your mother would feel if they found out that their future heirs and princes of the line of Durin acted less graciously than Elves, whom I was told by Gandalf are actually quite respectful and well-mannered.  Oh, that reminds me, Lion-O, if we do meet the Elves, we simply have to see how their hospitality and customs would be so much alike to us Hobbits.  You know how much Bell and Hamfast Gamgee adore the tales of Lord Elrond and Rivendell and seeing if they truly are the most gracious and beautiful of all races - ”

                That quickly nailed Fíli and Kíli’s collective pride as they rapidly did an about-face.

                “We’re sorry, Young Bog – er, Young Baggins!  We mean no harm!” Fíli hurriedly said, bowing wildly from his horse.

                “We apologize for any insult to your name as well, Auntie Bilbo!” Kíli added, a twinkle in his eye.

                “We are quite ashamed!”

                “Verily!”

                “If you both give us another chance, we will show the both of you how wonderful and awe-inspiring the kin of Durin can be!”

                “The sons of Durin will always pay back and return all goodwill shown to us!”

                “We’re far more proper and respectable than all the Tree-Shaggers and Daisy-Munchers put together!”

                “Did I mention that we’re sorry?”

                “Very, **_very_** sorry?”

                Lion-O snorted, clearly not accepting the absurd apology.

                Bilbo could not help but chuckle softly at the antics.

                Watching this, Balin raised an eyebrow, impressed at Bilbo’s emotional manipulation.  He just hoped Thorin wasn’t listening (they certainly did not need to add more to the King’s dark mood already with talk of how Bilbo admired Elves).

                At the same time, Nori was reporting secretly to Thorin Oakenshield and Dwalin at the rear of the line, unnoticed by everyone else.  Both Dwalin and Thorin were a little disturbed to see that for once, the Dwarf outlaw was truly bothered and nettled as Nori whispered in Khuzdul.

                “ _You were right to think that we were being followed, your Majesty_ ,” Nori said with a touch of awe, “ _But by the hammer of Mahal, these spies are good, perhaps as good as me.  I tried most of my usual tricks and looking for the obvious signs, but I could not discover anything in the Shire.  No glint of weapons, no footprints, and no scraps or waste left behind.  And given that they remained concealed amongst an entire town of Hobbits and that seasoned warriors such as Fundinson could not even catch of glimpse of them means that were dealing with something far more elusive and dangerous than a typical band of outlaws._ ”

                “ _Should we expect an attack?  Are they hostile?_ ” Dwalin asked, frowning.

                Something about this whole affair wasn’t making any sense…

                “ _No, because mark my words, whoever’s been tailing us were the ones responsible for distracting the Trolls and saving us from the fire.  If they were our enemies, they would not risk their well-being to save us.  Why go through the risk of injury and trouble?  When you have a target, choose the option that requires the least amount of effort and complication.  Otherwise, why make things difficult for yourself?  You need to think like an outlaw and a thief, Fundinson._ ”

                “ _Why else do you think we’re asking a rotter like you?_ ” sneered Dwalin.  There was a spark of irascibility in Nori’s eyes as he continued as if he never heard the affront.

                “ _Yet it was fortunate we were in danger.  Due to their actions, I caught a glimpse of them._ ”

                “ _What are they?  Men?  Fellow Dwarves and kin?_ ” Thorin asked brusquely.

                “ _They were a pair of children, young ones.  Thin frames, slender, yet agile enough to bounce among the tress and scatter as soon as Gandalf showed up._ ”

                “ _Children?_ ” repeated Dwalin with disbelief, “ _From the Menfolk?_ ”

                But Thorin then pieced together what was odd about this entire situation as he highlighted, “ _No, it cannot be.  Whatever had put the Trolls into a dreamy state was magic, something even Tharkûn has confirmed when he turned them to stone.  Men are usually not that adept at magic for such skill is usually a gift of the Istari or the Tree-Shaggers.  And if there were Menfolk who knew such witchcraft, it would be an adult who would have gained enough wisdom and power for such a feat, not broods who have seen far too few seasons._ ”

                “ _Can you tell us anything else about these elusive nippers, Thief?_ ” barked Dwalin rudely.  Nori made a mental note to irritate Dwalin later down the road.

                Nori then paused before he then uttered, “ _Thorin, I get the feeling that there’s more to the Bagginses than we think, especially with the…Housecat.  I would personally keep an eye on the Burglar’s son._ ”

                Both Dwalin and Thorin blinked before they gave a surreptitious glance at Lion-O (who was riding awkwardly on his horse with Bilbo).  That was an unexpected answer.

                “ _Why?_ ” Dwalin growled.

                Nori then made his point as he whispered, “ _Your Majesty… **the children had tails**._ ”

                Thorin then understood as he cast a surreptitious and furious glance at Lion-O, his eyes lingering on the extremity jutting out of the teenager’s trousers.  Dwalin’s eyes narrowed before he nodded with a silent signal that he would try to remain as determinedly close to the Thunderian as possible.

                If there was any treachery, Dwalin would catch it.

                Later that day, after taking a rest for the ponies in the mid-afternoon, Gandalf and the members of Thorin’s Company were quickly taken aback by the sudden crashing sounds coming from the undergrowth, drawing sudden bursts of alarm and fright.  Gandalf’s face was grave as he slowly stood and drew out his Elvish sword, Glamdring.

                “Stay together!  Hurry now.  Arm yourselves,” the Gray Wizard instructed.  Bilbo could feel his heart pounding against his ribs as he drew out his short sword, and upon instinct, he positioned himself in front of his son as a protective and shielding maneuver.

                “Father…” protested Lion-O as he tried to gently move Bilbo out of his path, but the Hobbit furiously swatted away his son’s hands.

                “ **Get behind me** ,” Bilbo hissed angrily.

                Before Lion-O could retort that he wasn’t helpless, the strangest sight greeted everyone’s eyes as the oddest sled came barreling through the bushes and dirt before skidding to a rather ungraceful and messy stop, soil and pebbles flying everywhere.

                It was an idiosyncratic toboggan built with study sticks, dried vines, and straps made of animal hide and leather.  Pulling the apparatus was a group of sixteen rabbits, each one gargantuan and almost as large as Bilbo himself with stout fat, brown fur, and muscle, agitated expressions, and wide eyes dilated with adrenaline.  The rabbits formed two single-file lines, conjoined with sturdy leashes and vests as they were all linked to the front of the bobsled like dogs.

                And the figure on the sleigh was rather bizarre himself.  It appeared to be an old man with a wrinkled, lined face and a hunched position that made him rounder and shorter than Gandalf.  He carried a twisted staff of gnarled wood with a turquoise orb on top, similar to Gandalf’s, yet his attire was a bundle of ratty animal hide and leather, soft yet grimy swaths of brown fabric enveloping his robes.  Even the odd hat of the intruder was brown (curiously with a bird’s nest on top).  And the stranger’s beard was a jumbled mixture of silver and black striped, twisted and knotted and in dire need of a good wash.  Especially when Bilbo noticed the dried patch of bird dropping encrusted on one side of the man’s head.

                “He looks like a wizard…” commented Dori with a tilt of his head as he lowered his sword by a fraction of an inch.  Nori scoffed at his older brother.

                “Mahal’s beard, **however** did you guess?” Nori drawled sardonically.

                Gandalf smiled as he relaxed.

                “He is,” confirmed the Istari as he greeted his fellow comrade, “Radagast!  Radagast the Brown.  What on earth are you doing here?”

                “Radagast…” murmured Bilbo as he then recalled that he was one of the five wizards Gandalf mentioned while they were travelling in the pouring rain.  Well, Gandalf was correct when he hinted that the other Wizards of Middle Earth were _nothing_ like him.  Lion-O took in the sight of the second sorcerer while Gandalf and Radagast drew close.

                For some reason, Lion-O pictured Radagast as the bumbling, absent-minded, yet good-natured fairy godmother in the one story of the beautiful slave maiden who sat by the cinders of the fireplace.

                “He doesn’t seem dangerous,” mused Lion-O out loud as he lowered his blade, feeling a bit more relaxed.  This brought a bark from Dwalin who overheard the furry teenager.

                “Don’t let your guard down just because you think he doesn’t seem dangerous, Young Baggins!” snapped the bald Dwarf guard, “Many a warrior have been killed exactly because of that mistake!”

                Lion-O resolutely shook his head as he lowered his sword even further (much to Dwalin’s ire).

                “Gandalf seems to trust him…” Lion-O pointed out, “And I trust my family.”

                This earned him a rather painful clout from the butt of Dwalin’s axe, Grasper, as the Dwarf jabbed Lion-O in the thigh rather painfully.  Dwalin snapped, “None of your insubordination, you dimwit!”

                Lion-O glared as he ruefully rubbed his leg to ease the bruise, but he said nothing.

                “Would you mind terribly if you do **_not_** call my son a ‘dimwit’?” Bilbo asked coldly.

                “Yes, I actually would, _Burglar_ ,” shot back Dwalin.

                Meanwhile, breathless and frantic, Radagast stumbled as he jumped off his sled and hurriedly waddled towards the approaching Gandalf.  The Brown Wizard gibbered uncontrollably, “I was looking for you, Gandalf.  Something’s wrong.  Something’s _terribly_ wrong.”

                Gandalf raised one eyebrow as he stiffened his back, tense, and asked, “Yes?”

                There was an odd silence as Radagast’s eyes glazed before Gandalf realized that his fellow Istari was not looking at him, but rather, what was behind him.  Radagast’s eyes went wide, shining with delighted curiosity, as he ambled past Gandalf rudely and towards Thorin and the Company.  The Dwarves immediately raised their weapons, tense and expecting an attack, but to their growing surprise and relief, the wizard ignored them before stopping in front of Lion-O Baggins.  Though he grew up his entire life being stared at or whispered at behind his back, Lion-O couldn’t help but be a little uncomfortable at the fact that Radagast was violating his personal space as he looked at Lion-O with the same wonder and amazement a child would look at a dazzling rainbow or a floating castle in the sky.  Still, the lion humanoid remembered his manners and gave a small bow to the eccentric wizard.

                “Lion-O Baggins.  Well met…” Lion-O said politely.

                “Gandalf has told me about you, but it is an absolute delight to finally see a being such as yourself.  You are certainly a strange animal…” Radagast declared with awe as he took in Lion-O’s blue eyes, red mane, and the creamy-brown fur covering the youth’s entire body as well as the fact the Cat was walking upright, talking Westron, and wearing _clothes_ of all things.  It was probably a safe guess that Radagast was completely smitten and that he did not mean his last remark as an insult.  Still, Lion-O and the others were not exactly sure how to react to that comment.

                “Um…thank you?” Lion-O offered at last, awkward and self-conscious.

                “Radagast, you can talk with my godson later,” segued Gandalf smoothly as he led the ratty spellcaster away by the shoulder, “What was it that you needed to tell me that was so urgent?”

                There was a minute of flustered and hesitant silence before the Dwarves started speaking.

                “Hmph, he seems even more useless than Gandalf,” muttered Nori, which earned him a hard elbow from Dori.

                “Don’t say such things out loud,” hissed Dori.

                “What?!  It is true!”

                “Regardless if they’re true or not, don’t say it out loud.  I’d rather not have that wizard hear you and turn you into one of his rabbits pulling his queer sled.”

                “Pfft!  Please, this wizard probably couldn’t turn cream into butter.”

                Once they were safely away from Thorin and Company, Gandalf turned to the twitter-pated Radagast and asked calmly, “Now, my dear friend.  What on Earth are you doing here? ”

                The Brown Wizard blinked, as if lost in thought, before he stammered as a stick-insect crawled down the soiled part of his hair.

                Radagast had completely forgotten.

                “Oh, just give me a minute.  Um….oh, I had a thought, and now I’ve lost it.  It was…it was right there on the tip of my tongue - ”

                Suddenly, to everyone’s astonishment, there was a bone-chilling howl, a scream of a wolf that sent shivers down Bilbo’s spine.  It was many, many times worse than the sounds of the wolf pack that nearly invaded Hobbiton that one winter night with Lion-O’s powers…

                “Is there a wolf out here?!” Bilbo asked, his eyes wide and his face white.  To his unease, the normally cheerful and joking Bofur was serious as he expertly gripped his mattock.

                “ **That was no wolf…** ” the Dwarf warned.

                Bifur, with his sharp eyes, made a shrill whistle with his teeth before he pointed with his spear towards a nearby crag of brown rock within the trees above.  Everyone turned to where the addled Dwarf was pointing at to feel their hearts crawl up to the throats.

                Bofur was correct that it was not a wolf.  This creature was far more feral, deadly, and ferocious than any wolf Bilbo and Lion-O had ever seen, and that one nightmare on a winter’s night in Hobbiton paled in comparison to this monster.  This Warg was gigantic, three times the size of an ordinary wolf and large enough to fit Bilbo in its entire cavernous maw, lined with pointed, misshapen teeth.  Beady, gleaming eyes, a grotesque and unnatural face, and a filthy, bloodstained pelt, it gave a bone-chilling cry of magnanimous joy before it then pounced towards the Company.

                “ ** _Scatter!_** ” yelled Thorin, and quickly, Gandalf and the other twelve Dwarves of the Company sidestepped and dodged madly, narrowly evading being crushed to death (or in Ori’s case, was dragged roughly by the collar of his tunic by his protective older brother, Dori).  Not surprisingly, Bilbo and Lion-O both remained rooted to the spot, still holding out their swords and pointing them at the advancing Warg, shell-shocked and trembling.

                And being completely easy targets.

                “Those idiots!” cursed Glóin as he and Dwalin rushed forward, hoping to intercept the Warg before it could go for the weakest members of their troop.  Yet surprisingly, it was Thorin himself who came to both of the Bagginses’ rescue as the Dwarf King quickly and expertly twirled Orcrist upwards as the Warg rushed past.  Within a blink of an eye, the beast stumbled, choking on its blood as it tripped and fell in an undignified heap with its throat slashed.  Twitching, the Warg shakily tried to rise back on its paws as it rasped with gore dribbling out of its jaws, but Thorin brought down his shining blade again.

                Instantly, the Warg was dead, decapitated.

                Unfortunately, there was no time for feeling victorious as two more Wargs showed up, hot on the tail of their companion.  Roaring, one of the hellbeasts pounced towards Thorin in an effort to avenge its comrade while the other was slowly ambling its way towards the young Dwarf, Ori, snarling and licking its drooling chops.  To Ori’s credit, he only whimpered slightly as he readied his slingshot with a rock at the progressing Warg.

                Before Bilbo or Lion-O could even cry out, the rest of the Dwarves acted.  Within a blink of an eye, both Kíli and Fíli struck out as Kíli notched an arrow and let it fly, directly hitting the spot between the Warg’s eyes.  At the same time, Fíli smoothly flicked his wrist and threw two small knives directly at the quadruped.  One sunk deep into the Warg’s right eye while the other embedded itself into the Warg’s neck.  The sudden unexpectedness of the attack caused the monster to misstep and spill ungracefully on its side, blood leaking out of its eyes and disoriented.  Thorin then delivered the killing blow.

                Meanwhile, Dwalin rushed forward and grabbed Ori by the collar of his cloak and tunic before roughly shoving the scribe behind his own body, readying his axes.  Thankfully, Dwalin didn’t need to do much of anything as Bifur then hurled his boar spear directly into his target.  There was a satisfying screech of pain as the Warg stumbled, with the handle of the javelin sticking out from its ribs, around the area where its heart was.  In its death throes, the Warg’s last sight was the appearance of Glóin, Dori, and Nori as the trio pounded mercilessly on its skull with their weapons.  Within moments, all that remained of the twitching animal was a pulpy mess of flesh, fur, and bone.

                “I had him!” protested Ori, hot in the face.  Both Nori and Dori glared at their younger brother with a mixture of disbelief and pity.  Ori then felt so humiliated as his face burned and his eyes stung.  Dwalin then gave a concerned look before he leaned over and muttered softly.

                “They just want you to be safe, Young Ori.  But if you would like, we can try finding a better weapon than your slingshot and give you some additional training alongside Young Baggins.”

                Ori nodded, sniffing.

                Nori and Dori were now both glaring _at Dwalin_.

                “Oh dear…” murmured Radagast as he watched the carnage unfold, “ _Now_ I remember why I was so frantic.”

                Gandalf wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose with one hand.

                Thorin’s mind was racing as he stabbed the dead Warg in the head, right between the eyes and not even bothering to marvel how easily the Elvish sword went through bone and flesh.

                The appearance of Wargs meant that Orcs were not far behind, and given the faint but distinct howls in the far off distance, that would mean that he and the other members of the Company were being targeted.  Yet how did the Orcs and Wargs manage to wander within hundreds of miles of landscape only to come to their exact location?  And how in the name of Mahal did their enemies know that Thorin and his kin were even travelling in the first place when he made care to remain clandestine?  Granted, the seven Dwarf Lords and their respective courts knew when Thorin came to them with requests for help for their mission, but Dwarves were a secretive folk and would never betray their own kin.

                In fact, the only beings who knew of their enterprise outside the Dwarven race were the wizard and -

                Nori’s words then echoed in his mind.

                _The children had tails._

                Could the reason why they were being pursued be because of - ?

                Thorin then whirled furiously on Lion-O, his fingers tightening on the handle of his sword and his face turning red.  Thorin barked, “Who did you tell, Housecat?!”

                Lion-O blinked, taken aback, as he uttered a simple, “What?”

                Thorin’s face was now absolutely scarlet with fury as he roared, “ ** _WHO DID YOU TELL ABOUT OUR QUEST?!_** ”

                The look of utter befuddlement and confusion on Lion-O’s face would have been comical if not for the fact that the Dwarf King looked positively furious (and indeed several of the Dwarves such as Nori and Dwalin were also giving suspicious glances).  He gave a panicked look at Bilbo before Lion-O shook his head slowly, still not understanding what was happening.

                “…I apologize, Master Oakenshield, but I have no idea what you are talking about.”

                To Bilbo’s outraged shock and horror, Thorin lunged with a snarl and roughly grabbed the front of Lion-O’s blue waistcoat with one hand before yanking the teenager down to his eyes level.  Lion-O yelped in surprise as he stumbled, only to find himself landing on his knees and facing a rather furious and leery Dwarf King.  Lion-O’s eyes nervously looked at the sword Orcrist being gripped in Thorin’s hand as he shook Lion-O crudely.

                Thorin hissed, growing angrier by the second, “Do you take me for a fool like your Halfling father?!  You may have him and the wizard misled with your transparent act of acting like a senseless dupe, but I know now that there is no way you could possibly have been born **_this_** daft!  You are hiding something from the Company!  You must have told someone that caused the Wargs to find us, you crafty dunce!”

                “Master Thorin, please, stop this at once!  Unhand my son!” protested Bilbo as he tried to rush in between and grasp Thorin’s rather burly forearms in an effort to get the King to cease manhandling Lion-O.  But it was like trying to fight with a stone statue.

                “But I didn’t tell anyone, Master Oakenshield!” stammered Lion-O, his heart causing him to get flustered.  Thorin turned crimson, but before he could shout, Radagast’s voice broke through rather tentatively.

                “Actually, Master Dwarf, the Wargs might have been _my_ fault…”

                Thorin and the rest of the dumbstruck Company turned immediately towards Radagast, the yelling quickly brought to a screeching halt.  It was funny how despite not raising his voice, the Brown Wizard’s words got everyone’s attention (even Gandalf’s).

                The Brown Wizard then explained, “I may have accidentally led the Wargs here when they were attempting to track me down.  To silence me.”

                “Stalking **a wizard**?” Bofur echoed incredulously as Gandalf and Nori’s eyes both narrowed in thought, “ **Why?** ”

                “The Orcs are pursuing you because they’re following a master, a servant of Sauron and an agent of darkness!”

                “ _Sauron?_ ” repeated Balin, feeling the blood drain from his face as he tried to protest, unwilling to believe it, “But…but that cannot be!  Orcs are too brain-scattered and selfish to be willing to be subservient!  And why in the name of Mahal would they be interested in a measly troop of fifteen?!”

                “Who?” Gandalf asked lowly, his brows furrowed.  Solemn-faced, Radagast took a wrapped bundle from within the folds of his cloak before he drew back the swaths of cotton.  Gandalf’s eyes widened with shocked dread as his friend then exposed the shining, black Morgul Blade.

                “A Necromancer, Gandalf,” Radagast intoned austerely, no longer appearing as a bumbling old coot but serious and grim as one who had lived and experienced through Hell itself, “At the old fortress, Dol Guldur.  He has already summoned spirits of the dead.”

                Gandalf was rarely, if ever, struck dumb, but this one time of being rendered speechless certainly qualified.  A relic of black magic from the Witch King of Agmar, one of the Nine?  It was supposed to be sealed away, where light could never reach and closed by powerful magic.  And as much as Dwarves would like to believe otherwise, these Wargs and Orcs organizing a bounty on Thorin Oakenshield’s head and the line of Durin were far too systematized, methodical, with a degree of preparation and planning that was far beyond their normal modus operandi.  True, they were crafty, industrious, and could function well with making tribes and weapons and even machines of war.  But this sort of efficiency on preventing Thorin from reclaiming the Lonely Mountain further validated Radagast’s claim that there was a puppet master pulling the strings.  And given that the three Trolls they encountered last night were driven far away from the Ettenmoors so far south was another bad omen…

                There was dark magic at work.

                And given what Jaga the Cleric warned him earlier in the Astral Plane…

                Meanwhile, the Dwarves, Bilbo and Lion-O (who was still being manhandled by Thorin) were watching the two with a mixture of unease and discomfort.

                “Gandalf actually looks worried…” mused Bombur.

                _That is not a good sign_ , Bifur responded back with his hand gestures.  After all, if one of the Istari was uneasy, then it was a predicament that was far more serious than a couple of Orcs and Wargs.

                Indeed, when the Gray Wizard turned to Thorin and Company, his face and expression was sober and unsmiling.  Gandalf then declared, “You’re being hunted.”

                This brought a panic in the other Dwarves as Dwalin shouted urgently, turning to his comrades, “We have to get out of here!”  
                Ori groaned, white in the face, as he pointed out, “ ** _We can’t!_**   We have no ponies!  They bolted when the Wargs came!”

                Indeed, what the young Dwarf said was true.  At the sight of the wolves, all of the ponies and horses carrying their supplies had instantly panicked and fled for their own safety, leaving their riders behind as they scurried as far past their sight.  Now they had no means of transportation.

                “Now what do we do?!” Bombur practically wailed, trembling.

                “We could fight,” suggested Dwalin, only to be shot down by Nori.

                “No, Orcs travel in numbers.  There’s no way we could handle an entire battalion without one of us getting killed!  We need to run!  It’s not worth the risk!”

                “Coward,” sneered Dwalin.  Enraged, Nori pointed at Ori and Balin.

                “ ** _Shut your damned mouth and think, Fundinson!_**   I will **not** risk my brother’s life!  Will you risk yours?!”

                Dwalin growled, not sure if he was infuriated because Nori had a point or because he was being challenged and lectured by a two-bit thief.  This was most likely going to end into a screaming argument.  Then to everyone’s surprise, Radagast spoke up loudly enough for everyone to hear him.

                “I’ll draw them off.”

                Gandalf turned to the Brown Wizard before protesting with a shake of his head, “These are Gundabad Wargs.  They will outrun you.”

                Radagast then uncharacteristically smirked as he raised one eyebrow and jerked a thumb towards his sled and the hares pulling it.  Radagast boasted, “ ** _These_** are Rhosgobel Rabbits.  I’d like to see them try.”

                Gandalf pondered this before he realized that they had little other option.  He nodded briskly before commanding to the Dwarves authoritatively.

                “Radagast can buy us some time with his distraction, and I know a nearby area where we can find safety and shelter from the Orcs.  We must flee quickly, so grab all you can carry that is vital.  Oh, and Thorin?  Please release my godson.  **_Now._** ”

                Thorin blinked before he realized that he was still maintaining a death grip around the collar of a terrified and shell-shocked Lion-O (with Bilbo trying to clamber on the taller Dwarf King in an effort to get Thorin to stop).  Irate, Thorin complied, and Lion-O sputtered, coughing as he rubbed his neck while falling on his rump on to the ground.

                Bilbo however was still affronted as he then said meaningfully, “Mister Thorin, I believe you have something else to say to my son?”

                Instead of apologizing, Thorin just gave Lion-O a rather condescending sneer.

                “I should have known better,” Thorin snapped, “thinking that the Housecat would actually be smart enough in _pretending_ to be an idiot.”

                Lion-O looked shocked and pained while Bilbo turned scarlet and looked like he wanted to take the nearest object and chuck it at the offending Dwarf’s head.

* * *

                Mere minutes later…

                “ _COME AND GET ME!_ ” laughed Radagast as two Wargs (carrying their respective Orc Riders) stumbled and crashed into each other in their efforts to snare Radagast and his sled of rabbits.  Crumpling into an undignified heap, the two Orcs woozily rose on their feet as their fellow brethren dashed past in hot pursuit.

                Chortling, Radagast had to admit that despite risking his life for Gandalf and his friends, this was a bit entertaining.  He also made a mental note to get a chance to talk to the fabled “Lion-Child” that Gandalf had told him before in the past; it would certainly be a boon to actually have tea with this Lion-O.

                Meanwhile, Yazneg, the Orc leader of the Warg Riders, sent a silent nod and glare towards his other companions, reminding them that Mumm-Ra and Axog would severely punish them if they strayed from the plan…

* * *

                “Come on!” whispered Gandalf urgently as he and the others watched the last Orc and Warg pass by their hiding place.  The entire company, all of them carrying their weapons and backpacks, quickly followed Gandalf as they darted out of the rock formation and scurried across the dried grass.

                The Dwarves had to admit that for a bumbling and scatter-brained shaman, Radagast and his sled were surprisingly swift and elusive, able to bewilder and bamboozle the Orcs with simplicity.

                “Will Radagast be all right, Gandalf?!” asked Lion-O worriedly as he jogged alongside his red-faced and puffing father, looking over his shoulder worriedly.  A simple jab from Dwalin (who was running next to the Thunderian) interrupted his ponderings.

                “Keep your mind on running, Young Baggins!” snapped the burly Dwarf guard, “If you trip and fall, we’re not carrying you!”

                “ ** _Move!_** ” barked Thorin to his entire Company, clearly not in the mood for gossiping while fleeing.

                “I’m sure he’ll be fine, Lion-O!  He’s a wizard!” wheezed Bilbo in between pants.  By Yavanna, he never expected adventure to be this laborious and strenuous!  He was a Gentle-Hobbit, not a trooper!

                To everyone’s rude surprise, a lone pack of two Wargs and Orcs passed by in their chase for Radagast, obviously stragglers that were trailing behind the main faction and trying to catch up with Yazneg and the main group.  Thorin, Gandalf and the others immediately flattened themselves against the nearest rock outcropping that was jutting out of the earth and soil.  Young Ori, still not paying close attention, foolishly continued running past his party and completely out into the open.

                “Ori!” yelped Lion-O too loudly, only to immediately get pounced on by Bifur and Dwalin (with Dwalin being the angrier as evidenced by his purple-faced demeanor).  Acting quickly, Thorin reached out and grabbed Ori by the collar, stopping the scribe in his tracks before dragging back under the shade and shadows of the cliff.  Bifur put a finger to his lips solemnly as a signal to Lion-O to remain quiet while Dwalin was less than tolerant.

                “You idiot!  Do you want to alert the Orcs on our position?!  Wargs have a keen sense of smell and hearing!” hissed Dwalin under his breath furiously.  Lion-O lowered his head a bit, abashed.

                Thankfully, the two lone Orcs passed by them without indication that they had spotted them.  Sighing with relief, Bilbo and the others cautiously extracted themselves from their hiding place as Gandalf nudged the Company with a tilt of his head.

                “This way!  Quickly!  We’re almost there!” Gandalf intoned as he dashed off (with everyone following the wizard).

                “Where are you taking us?!” demanded Thorin suspiciously at Gandalf, and to his ire, Gandalf smiled.

                “Someplace safe,” the wizard replied cryptically.  Thorin’s eyes narrowed.

                Meanwhile, Fíli, who was herding everyone and making sure that no one in the Company (especially his brother and the corpulent Bombur) wasn’t going to be left behind, then noticed that Ori was just standing shock-still and looking at the sky.  The Dwarf was not even making an attempt to follow them.  Ori’s brothers also noticed too, and at his end, Dori grabbed his younger sibling by the back of his cloak.

                “Ori, what are you doing?!  We need to go!” barked Dori.

                “We’re in trouble…” Ori announced, trembling and wide-eyes as he pointed at the sky, which was starting to become dark with the approaching figures of winged avians.  Not seeing the urgency, Dori dismissed his brother’s concern.

                “Yes, yes, there are carrion-feeders and birds playing about!  _Very interesting!_   Now, get along!” the gray-haired Dwarf drawled sardonically while swatting Ori upside the head to get him to start running.  But Nori and Fíli both looked up and blanched with twin expressions of horror.  Fíli called back, yelling towards his Thorin and Gandalf.

                “Uncle!  We’re in trouble!  **_We’ve been spotted!_** ” Fíli yelled urgently.

                “Where are the Orcs?!” yelled Thorin as he took out Orcrist from its scabbard, but now awestruck with a combination of wonder and dread, Nori pointed at the sky.

                “It’s not Orcs!” Nori yelled, and instantly, Gandalf, Bilbo, Thorin, and the Dwarves all looked up to see exactly why Nori was so flummoxed.

                Gliding on the air were an assemblage of over thirty Birds.

                Yet these were not ordinary birds like the typical Ravens Dwarves used as messengers or the Great Eagles of Manwë.  They were almost a queer combination of Birds and Men, the alien creatures each being roughly six feet tall and actually having arms and hands (complete with fingers) with their talons and claws acting as feet and legs.  There were various species of fowl, ranging from the common sparrow to the black crows to an odd one with brown plumage that looked similar to a vulture.  And even in the far distance, a few such as Nori, Kíli, and Lion-O could spot a glint of metal amongst the flying creatures, and Gandalf guessed correctly why.  Armor and weapons.  All of the Birds were carrying odd metal forked staffs in their hands and wearing flexible and protective metal armor around their chests, backs, and torsos and steel gauntlets around their arms and clawed feet.  A few even donned helmets, and the vulture was wearing an odd gold necklace with a pendant in the shape of a pyramid with the red symbol of Mumm-Ra in the middle.

                Horus, a dignified gray pigeon with green armor, said with little emotion, “They have spotted us, General Vultaire.  Your orders?”

                Vultaire commanded, “Follow Mumm-Ra’s objectives.  Close-quarters combat and take advantage of our armor being stab-proof.  If one of two of the Dwarves should die, then so be it.  If there is an opening, take the Thunderian alive if you can.”

                Then Mumm-Ra’s commander arched his head back and let loose a blood-curdling screech to signal his fellow soldiers.

                “ ** _Silverhawks, TALLY-HO!_** ”

                And with that, the Birds descended towards Thorin and the Company, like hawks to their prey.

                Upon seeing the strange creatures of the air dive towards them and approaching fast, many of the Dwarves drew out their weapons while Bilbo asked Gandalf, “Should we run?!”

                “We would never outrun flying birds!” Balin protested, shaking his head, as he drew out his sword, “There’s no cover, and we’re all out in the open!”

                “What are these creatures?!” Bombur yelled as he quickly grabbed the only things he had on hand that he could use (a cast-iron skillet and a copper pot), “I’ve never seen such things before!”

                “Stand strong!” commanded Thorin to his troop, “We are the Sons of Durin, warriors of stone and rock!  Let us show these abominations what they get when they foolishly choose to attack us!”

                Yet then Gandalf stepped forward in the middle of Thorin’s oration.

                “Allow me…” Gandalf said sternly as he raised his staff.  Immediately, a sudden surge of white burst forth from the tip of the wooden rod and engulfed the surrounding skies in the immediate vicinity.  The magical illumination caused many of the Birds to squeal in pain as the flare burned their eyes painfully, causing them to falter as they flapped around in dizzying circles and rubbed their eyes.

                Taking advantage of the Birds being temporarily blind, Dori then grabbed Ori before shoving him towards Bilbo and Lion-O Baggins, with Lion-O stooping down to catch Ori in his arms as the young Dwarf stumbled.

                “Stay with the Bagginses!” snapped Dori as he started twirling his metal bolas in his hands, using them like a flail, “Lion-O, Bilbo, we’ll cover you both!”

                “Er…we can help?” offered Bilbo hesitantly as he was holding his Elvish sword in his hands, although even **he** knew that sounded like an empty offer the instant he said it.  Nori (and quite a few other Dwarves nearby) scoffed disdainfully at the proposal.  Ori however looked like he wanted to fight, but unfortunately, given the previous attempt with the Warg, a slingshot wasn’t going to do much.

                Lion-O felt his mind click with inspiration as he quickly dug into the inside pocket of his waistcoat.  Ever since the near-death experience with the Trolls, he made a point to keep some of his tools on his person (and hopefully, his father wouldn’t object too much).

                “Ori, are you any good with your slingshot?!” Lion-O breathlessly asked.  Confused and white in the face, Ori nodded, and hurriedly, Lion-O pressed the two miniature clap pellets into the Dwarf’s sweaty palm.

                “What is this?” Ori asked, confused.  Lion-O smiled with eager anticipation.

                “Something I invented back at the Shire.”

                In the interim, several of the Birds along with Vultaire managed get past Gandalf’s magic trick and set themselves upon Thorin and the Dwarves, prodding with their staves and scratching with their feet.  They were so quick and slippery while fluttering in the skies that it was incredibly difficult for the Dwarves to hit them.

                “What in the name of Mahal?!” Glóin gasped as he struck a passing Bird directly into its back, only to have the blade not even leave a scratch (although the Bird cried out from the resulting impact), “That should have killed the blighter!”

                Óin was actually moderately successful as he twirled his metal staff in a wide circle over his head, painfully whacking several Birds nearby and causing them to keep a wide berth around the Dwarven healer.

                Kíli himself was taken aback as he successfully shot an arrow into the chest of a sparrow Birdman, only to have the projectile stick out from the metal breastplate.  The avian managed to gain a second wind and swooped down with her staff raised over her head, ready to bash Kíli’s skull in.  The Durin Prince dodged and rolled madly to avoid the strike.

                “It’s their armor!” guessed Balin correctly as he blocked and parried a staff thrust from a falcon, “It’s too hardy to pierce through completely!”

                “Except Elvish swords…” smoothly contradicted Gandalf as he cut through the mail of one aggressive petrel, causing the Bird to cry out in surprise at the bleeding gash in her shoulder.  Thorin was also amazed to see how effortlessly and slickly his Orcrist cut through a Bird’s staff like a hot knife through butter.  As the Bird fled in defeat, Thorin glared with averseness at the smiling Gandalf.

                “I **_said_** you would not find a finer blade,” reminded the Gray Wizard.

                Thorin looked like he would rather choke on his words than admit that Gandalf was right about **_anything_** regarding Elves.

                Inspiration then struck Kíli as he notched another arrow and aimed at one Bird’s wings (which were **not** covered in armor).  He cheered at the satisfying cry of pain as the shaft piece through flesh and bone.  Now with a useless wing, the sparrow soldier plummeted to the ground and would have broken his neck if not caught by his fellow comrades, with two other Birdmen safely and securely grabbing their injured friend by his torso with their feet.  However, one burly albatross then roared as he tried to land on the Dwarf, intent on crushing Kíli upon impact with his talons.  Kíli strafed madly to the side, narrowly avoiding the heavy form as it crashed a few feet away.  Kíli was about to notch another arrow, only to have the Bird painfully knock the bow out of the Dwarf’s hands with a swipe of his metal bar.  Wincing and clutching at his throbbing hand, Kíli backed away helplessly as the albatross advanced.

                “I will cripple you, Dwarf!” the Bird legionnaire snarled loudly enough for everyone to hear him.

                The entire Company was absolutely flabbergasted beyond all belief.

                “ _Since when do birds talk in Westron?!_ ” Bifur yelped in Khuzdul, so thoroughly astonished that he decided to forsake signing in Iglishmêk for once.

                “Since when do birds wear armor?!” Nori shouted, his eyes wide as he held out his mace high and ready to swing, spotting the sunlight glinting off the metal helmets and uniforms of the flying aliens.

                “Since when do birds get that damned big?!” Dwalin yelled as he flung two sharp daggers directly at the closest Dove, only to have the Birdman narrowly evade the deadly shots by twisting his body out of the trajectory.

                Gandalf frowned, holding his hat secure to his head with one hand, but he didn’t say anything.

                Fíli then leapt to his brother’s defense as Kíli dashed to grab his missing bow, and the Bird was forced to go onto the defensive as Fíli slashed expertly with his twin swords, creating sparks as steel met steel.

                One dark raven laughed at Bombur trying to avoid getting scratched as he flailed around with his pots and pans as makeshift clubs, staggering and grunting like an obese and clumsy pig.  In fact, the Birdman was actually developing a rather cruel streak as he decided to have some additional fun as he jabbed at the fat Bombur with his staff, sadistically leaving bleeding gashes across the Dwarf’s face and head.

                “You’re too slow!” jeered the raven, “You’re too slow!  You’re too slow!  You’re - ACK!”

                The Bird immediately stopped laughing as Bombur then swiftly dropped his armaments and reached out before latching around both of the raven’s ankles, quick as lightning.  Caught off guard, the Bird squealed in shock before Bombur then jerked hard.

                Wham!

                Thanks to Bombur, the Bird was forcefully yanked out of the air and slammed to the ground.  Face first.  And hard enough to crack his beak and draw blood.  And Bombur wasn’t finished yet as he then heaved and wrenched the avian out of the ground into the other direction.

                Wham!

                And out of the dirt and then in the _other_ direction.

                Wham!

                And then introduced the Bird to the terrain twice more.

                Wham!  Wham!

                Even with the helmet, the raven was seeing stars as his skull throbbed.  In desperation, the Bird tried to fly off, only to be jerked to a halt as Bombur kept an iron-fisted grip around the Bird’s legs and prevented him from fleeing.  In fact, no matter how hard the Birdman tried to flap his wings, he could not get free; Bombur kept him rooted in place.

                “You have got to be kidding me!” snarled the raven as he then tried to kick and beat Bombur in the face and head in an effort to get loose, “You’re so fat that I can’t even lift a lard-ball like - !”

                Those were the last words the raven ever got to croak as he then gurgled and choked, blood coming out of his sagging beak.  Bifur took the advantage of his brother keeping the Bird still as he flung his boar spear like a javelin.  Directly hitting the soldier of Mumm-Ra right at the base of its exposed throat.  The Bird was unable to breathe or do much of anything with a giant piece of metal severing his larynx right above the collar.

                Gagging, the Bird stopped flailing about and landed on his back onto the ground.  Bofur then ran up before slamming his mattock hard against the chest cavity, cracking the Bird’s ribs, before delivering a final swing onto the Bird’s head.

                There was a sickening crunch before the avian’s limbs twitched and went limp.

                “We got one!” panted Bombur, magnanimous as he released the dead raven’s legs while Bifur yanked his spear free.

                This immediately brought a furious uproar from the other Birds.

                “They killed Blagden!” shrieked a robin Bird in fury, “Those damned savages killed Blagden!”

                “ **Make them pay!** ” roared one of Blagden’s fellow raven soldiers.

                “Silverhawks, kill one of them in return!” Vultaire commanded as the Birds immediately set themselves upon Thorin and Company with a renewed vengeance, eager for payback.  Not even a second burst of magical light from Gandalf’s wand could deter their sudden bloodlust and desire for revenge.  Fíli still managed to hold strong against his opponent as he danced with his swords, but the Bird wasn’t giving him an inch either.

                And he wasn’t the only one having problems…

                “Ah!  Let me go!” Óin yelled in outrage as Horus managed to deflect and lock the Dwarf’s metal staff in his hands, maintaining a firm hold and preventing the Dwarf from beating him with it.  Straightaway, a fellow house martin and a blue swallow quickly engulfed the old Dwarf as Horus managed to yank away Óin’s staff.

                “Gerroff me!” sputtered Óin as he frantically beat back the two avians who were trying to peck and claw at his face.  Thankfully, Óin positioned his arms over his face so that they could not reach his eyes.  As Glóin, Nori, and Dori rushed to try to save their friend, they were immediately flocked upon by seven other Birdmen, jabbing and scratching them madly with their weapons and feet.  Óin then cried out in surprise as a rather brawny and well-built hawk then swooped at Óin’s back and grabbed the Dwarf securely around the waist with his legs, straddling the Dwarf, before taking flight.  Óin yelled in fright as he found himself being lifted high into the air and off the ground, and no amount of resisting and writhing could get himself free.

                “Óin!” yelled Dori and Nori.  Glóin tried to blitz past the flock and tackle the hawk Birdman before he could get too far, but despite jumping high into the air, the Dwarf missed and crashed back to the ground.  Óin and his captor were too far high for Glóin to catch his brother now.

                “Khâzash!” cried out the Dwarf banker woefully.

                “ ** _Kill them!_** ” bellowed Vultaire as he narrowly dodged Dori’s metal bolas in an effort to snare the Bird, “ ** _But I want the Prince alive!_** ”

                This got all of the Dwarves attention.

                “They want…?” trailed off Balin in surprise before it clicked.

                “Fíli!” gasped Thorin, now fearing for his nephews and finally showing an expression of growing and wide-eyed panic.  Dwalin, not being one for words, immediately took off to secure Kíli and Fíli.

                Unfortunately, Fíli was more concerned about his brother as two birds took advantage and swooped down and seized Kíli before the dark-haired Prince could fire a shot.  Painfully digging their clawed talons into Kíli’s shoulders and back, the two flying beasts lifted Kíli up into the air.  Panicking, the Dwarf kicked and thrashed, trying to get free as the birds went higher and higher.

                “Let go!” protested Kíli as he tried to draw out his sword, only for one of his captors to swiftly knock it out of his hand with a thrust of the Bird’s stave.

                “Kíli!” roared Fíli as he was temporarily sidetracked upon seeing his sibling being taken hostage, but that one moment of distraction was all his opponent needed as he swung his staff into Fíli’s midsection.  The golden-haired Dwarf was left painfully winded as he was sent to his knees from the throbbing agony in his stomach.  The albatross raised his staff over his head, ready to bash Fíli’s skull in with it; one hit was all it would take.

                Dwalin roared as he rushed in at the last second with Thorin, both of them coming to Fíli’s defense as they set themselves upon the Bird.  Dwalin hurled his axe, Keeper, directly at the avian’s head while Thorin took a wide slash directly at the Birdman’s stomach at the same instant, working in tandem.  Snarling, the Bird managed to evade both attacks, but both Dwalin and Thorin succeeded in forcing the soldier of Vultaire to retreat away from Fíli.  Fíli, however, was not paying any attention to this as he shakily got up, took out two throwing daggers, and focused on the two birds carrying away Kíli.

                “Kíli!  Bring my brother back, you bastards!  **_Bring him back!_** ” Fíli screamed hoarsely with grief as he flung both of his knives.  However, it was no use; both Birds sensed the incoming shrapnel and strafed in the skies to narrowly dodge and evade one knife.  The other stiletto actually hit its mark as it embedded itself into one Bird’s shoulder, but due to the armor, though painful, the dagger did not sink into her flesh and bone, leaving her unharmed.  However, Fíli’s attack managed to distract the two Birds enough for Lion-O to make his move…

                **_Pow!  Boom!  Crackle!  Bang!_**

                There was an abrupt flurry of color and hot sparks as the Birds and Kíli yelped in surprised pain, engulfed with an explosion of Gandalf’s fireworks.  Thankfully, when Lion-O hurled his clay pellet from the sidelines, he aimed specifically at the Birds’ backs, so Kíli actually took the least amount of damage from the sudden sneak-attack as his captors’ bodies actually shielded the Dwarf from the full brunt of the detonation.  The two Bird warriors however were not as fortunate as the sparks and hot gases scorched their feathers and skin and faces, raising welts and second-degree burns.

                “I can’t see!” screamed one of the Birds as the pyrotechnic effects forced them to spontaneously release their hold on Kíli…only to have the Dwarf Prince plummet to the ground from a great height.

                “AAAAAAA!” screamed Kíli as he fell.  Fíli was about to try to dash forward in an attempt to save his brother, but to his surprise, someone else beat him to it.

                “I got you!” yelled Lion-O as he scurried to position himself underneath Kíli, hoping he could make it in time as he held his arms upwards and outwards, “I got you!  I got - !”

                WHUMP!

                Fíli winced.

                Though woozy and blurred eyesight, Kíli was surprised.  That was an unexpectedly soft landing.

                “Oh my,” blinked Kíli as his vision cleared, “That did not hurt at all!”

                “ _Owwww…_ ” rasped Lion-O from underneath, half whining in delirious pain, because when he tried catching the Dwarf, Kíli knocked the wind out of the Thunderian when he crashed into Lion-O’s body and rammed the Thunderian into the ground.  Lion-O just hoped that there were no broken bones (although truthfully, he would be happy if he still had the ability to walk afterwards).  The Durin Prince looked down and balked.

                “Oops.  Sorry, Housecat…” the dark-haired Dwarf meekly offered.

                “Not…Housecat…” wheezed Lion-O, trying to get his bearing and air into his squashed lungs.  He wondered if it was bad form to throttle Kíli right after saving his life…

                “Are you all right, Young Boggins?  That must have been painful,” Fíli asked innocently enough as he helped his groaning brother off Lion-O, with one sword out and prepared for any incoming Bird.

                Now Lion-O wondered if he could throttle _both_ Kíli and Fíli _at the same time_ …

                Concurrently, Thorin and Dwalin were starting to run into a bit of a dilemma.  The Dwarf King and Royal Guard were swiftly besieged by ten others Birds, all of them instantly coming to the albatross’ defense.  But before the mob could set themselves on the two Dwarves, there was another burst of fireworks as a stray pellet from the sidelines struck Mumm-Ra’s troopers.  Instantly, the aliens backed off and retreated away from Thorin and Dwalin as the firecrackers and sparklers overwhelmed them with popping bursts and small fireballs.

                Taking advantage of the disturbance, Thorin and Dwalin managed to withdraw a safe distance before they turned to see the young Ori aimed again with his slingshot and fire the second capsule at the avian flock attacking Dori and Nori, creating a massive and blazing explosion that sent the enemy screaming in pain.

  
Art done by [Jess Deaton](http://jess-deaton11392.tumblr.com/)

                Dwalin looked proud, puffing his chest with admiration, while Thorin called out with a relieved smile, “Well done, Young Ori!”

                “Thank you, but it was Lion-O’s idea!” Ori yelled triumphantly, though blushing with praise and rising self-esteem.  A compliment from Thorin Oakenshield himself, the leader of the Company and future King.  Dori would preen with pride and joy once he found out (and hopefully stop babying Ori).

                Lion, despite being bruised and dizzy, heard Ori’s commendation and felt his ears perk up with eagerness.

                Surely this would earn him Thorin’s good graces now.

                Surely this proved that Lion-O wanted to make up for his mistake with the Trolls.

                Surely this would show that he wasn’t a burden, a liability, an inconvenience to the Company.

                Surely Thorin would smile and declare Lion-O a fellow warrior too.

                Yet to Lion-O’s crushed spirit, Thorin’s face soured at Ori’s statement before he turned to all of the other Dwarves and barked, “Quickly!  **_Ifridî bekâr!_**  Gather together and hold rank!”

                Lion-O felt mortified (though he got an encouraging pat on the back from Fíli and Kíli) as he limped towards Thorin and Dwalin along with the other Dwarves.  Bilbo, however, was fuming at the slight.

                By Yavanna, Bilbo had absolutely enough of the sheer audacity of that pig-headed Dwarf!

                Red-faced and his expression set, Bilbo hurriedly got directly into Thorin Oakenshield’s path and jabbed a finger into his chest angrily.

                “Now you listen here, Master Oakenshield!” snapped Bilbo, not caring the annoyed frown on Thorin’s face before the sable-haired Dwarf’s gaze drew to a point over Bilbo’s head, “I can tolerate many things, but you are being immensely disrespectful of my son who has done nothing to warrant such contempt!  I am quite sure our contract made no amendments for verbal subjugation, so I would appreciate – are you listening to me?!”

                Thorin yelled as he grabbed Bilbo’s shoulders roughly, “ ** _Down!_** ”

                Bilbo didn’t even have time to yelp as he was forcefully yanked and sent tumbling to the ground with Thorin shielding the Hobbit with his own body.  There was a fleeting sensation of something narrowly passing by, the air swishing by his head and jacket by a whisker.  This was followed by a scream of pain from Vultaire.

                Bilbo managed to pick himself up from the grass with both of his hands before he looked up to see the sight of Thorin Oakenshield placing himself between Bilbo and the Birdman General, Vultaire.  Thorin was holding out a bloody Orcrist in front of him, teeth bared and ready to strike.  Vultaire was cursing madly in agony as Bilbo then saw blood dripping down a deep laceration on his thigh, exposing flesh and a bit of bone.

                “Begone, feeder of carrion!” snarled Thorin as he slashed at the space in between them with his sword.  Vultaire considered retaliating, but upon the sight of Dwalin, Balin, and Gandalf rushing to Thorin’s side, he decided to flee, taking flight.  The humanoid vulture soared up to the skies, squawking a signal to the other Birdmen.

                “Thank you!” gasped Bilbo as he shakily rose to the feet, grateful for the protective act.  Thorin was less than courteous in his response.

                “Just stay behind me and try to be **marginally less** useless than your son, although I use that last term loosely,” snapped Thorin before muttering the final part of his sentence.

                Bilbo frowned.

                If Belladonna were still alive, she would probably excuse Bilbo if he gave in the desire to smack Thorin in the face.

                “To the skies!  **_To the skies!_** ” Vultaire yelled as the Birds began to congregate above.  Down below, Thorin yelled the same.

                “The birds are retreating!  Gather together and form a circle!  **_Quickly!_** ”

                “Glóin, we have to leave now while the Birds are withdrawing!” Bofur yelled as he tried to jerk on Glóin’s sleeve, but the red-bearded, burly Dwarf furiously threw Bofur’s hand off.

                “ ** _They have my brother!_** ” roared Glóin as he pointed at the skies above, particularly at the faint and miniscule outlook of the giant hawk avian still ransoming a thrashing and cursing Óin.  The Hawk turned to Vultaire which invoked a smirk on the General’s beak.

                “An eye for an eye…” Vultaire stated evocatively.

                With that, to Thorin and the Company’s collective alarm, the Birdman relinquished his grip around Óin and let his victim plummet from the atmosphere.

                Óin screamed without words as he fell, arms and legs flapping uselessly in terror.

                “ÓIN!” yelled several Dwarves in chorus as they could only stare helplessly as the Dwarf healer began to plummet from the skies to his death.  Glóin was hysterically distraught, completely out of character for the gruff warrior.

                “ ** _NO!_** ” howled Glóin, praying to Aulë and all the Valar for a miracle, for anything…

                “Gandalf, do something!” begged Bilbo.  Gandalf narrowed his eyes as he was about to raise his staff…

                WHOOSH!

                To everyone’s surprise, a pillar of wind and buffeted air instantly erupted from the ground in front of Thorin and the Company, rising and spewing a funnel of violently compressed air.  Within moments, the tornado swallowed and surrounded Óin before it slowed down the velocity of his descent, carefully bringing his fall to a stop.  Hovering and floating like a feather, the amazed Dwarf could only stare with wide eyes as he was gently set back down to the terrain on his own two feet, the swirling air soothingly helping Óin regain his balance before the magical tornado dispersed.

                Much to the Birds’ collective outrage, Óin was safe and unharmed from his nosedive.

                “Gandalf, thank you!  You saved my brother!” yelled Glóin with grateful appreciativeness before he ran forward and hugged Óin tightly, nearly sobbing with joy.  The elderly healer returned the hug, but he looked mournfully at the ground behind him where he dropped his ear trumpet.  Due to the fall, the trumpet did not survive and was now uselessly bent and misshapen, almost as if flattened by someone stomping on it.

                “My ear trumpet,” groaned Óin, “It’s damaged beyond repair!”

                “Better it than you,” pointed out Nori, rolling his eyes.

                Despite a swift slap upside Nori’s head by Dori, Glóin had to admit that Nori had a point.

                “Good work, Gandalf!  Your spell saved Óin!” cheered Kíli as he readied his bow and arrow in case the Birds would attack.  The Gray Wizard, however, did not even bother to correct the Prince as he turned around to see three golden blurs dash off in the distance.

                Gandalf stared in shocked astonishment.

                “Jaga?” whispered Gandalf.

                Meanwhile…

                “The Dwarf still lives, and we’ve yet to capture the Lion Prince while we have lost on of our own men,” Horus stated flatly, giving Vultaire a glare of blame.  Blagden was a good Bird and a steadfast soldier; he did not deserve to die at the hands of an inferior barbarian.

                Vultaire was undaunted.

                “Silverhawks, attac - !” the Bird General was about to command, only to be quickly interposed as an arrow to uncomfortably zip close to his beak.

                Then another rushed past Horus’ head.

                Then two more found their marks into the breastplate of the albatross that tried to go one-on-one with Fíli, and the Birdman gasped as he now had two exquisite shafts fletched with green feathers sticking out of his torso.  Only the Bird’s resilient armor prevented them from puncturing his heart and killing him.

                “General Vultaire, there’s another battalion shooting at us!” yelled a House Martin as she pointed at a group of ten armored warriors approaching on horseback from the West, firing at their location in the skies.  Already, volley upon volley of deadly projectiles were coming upwards in multitudes; the Silverhawks would not be able to avoid them for long without losing even more of their fellow kin.

                “Flee, you fools!  Retreat!  **Retreat!**   **_RETREAT BACK TO MUMM-RA!_** ” screamed Vultaire as he surged away higher, being the first of the legion to bolt (not that any of the other Birdmen were at all surprised).  With that, he and the other Birds all flapped away, absconding.

                “The Bird creatures!” Dwalin declared as the avian horde faded into the distance out of eyesight, “They’re leaving!  We’re safe!”

                “Don’t be so sure about that…” gulped Nori as he readied his mace at the advancing scouts.

                Bifur glared suspiciously at the incoming saviors, signing with his hands, _Who are they?_

                Balin’s sharp eyes took in the delicate armor of green and gold, the fact that these helmeted beings were as tall as the Men-folk, the detail that their horses were breathtakingly perfect with fat, muscle, and spotless fur shining like dew (clearly not raised in grungy stables in towns and cities), and that they were furnished with bows and arrows of such superb make…

                “They’re Elves,” declared Balin stoutly, which did little to comfort the Dwarves as they immediately became mistrustful and cagey.  Óin, humorously, didn’t catch Balin’s words.

                “I don’t know what you just said, but those are Elves!” Óin snapped.

                Thankfully, no one decided to comment.

                Thorin then remembered how earlier Gandalf was trying to convince him to seek Lord Elrond for help with their quest.  It wouldn’t be that far of a guess to surmise that they were within the borders of the realm of Rivendell, the Last Homely House East of the Sea.

                Damned wizard!

                By the anvil and forge of Mahal, if he didn’t need Gandalf, Thorin could actually murder him.

                The dark-haired King glared at Gandalf, growling accusingly, “This was your plan all along, to seek refuge with our enemy.”

                “You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield.  The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself,” the wizard responded rather lightly (sending Thorin’s ire to new heights) before he strode forward, greeting the leader of the pack with a warm smile.  The frontrunner of the Elvish drove dismounted his steed before removing his helmet and giving a fond and genuine smile.

                Both Lion-O and Bilbo could not help but marvel at the Elf’s good looks, a warm and friendly countenance while clearly showing he was a fierce warrior given he had a sword lashed to his side.

                Thorin did his best to look like he wasn’t bothered at that damned Halfling staring like the stupid Elf was the sun and moon itself.

                “Mithrandir,” the male Elf said in a deep yet mellifluous voice.

                “Lord Elrond!” Gandalf warmly smiled as he embraced the head noble of Rivendell.

                Elrond nodded as he patted Gandalf’s back, although his smile fell as they parted.  There was some worry in his eyes along with his grave expression as Elrond asked, “Those…creatures that appeared to be Birds in the skies.  Do you know anything of this anomaly?”

                “We can discuss that later,” Gandalf said clandestinely before he indicated to the Company, “But for now, we are hoping you could provide us food and shelter.”

                “I cannot say I would accept any abnormal menace into my lands.”

                “I promise I shall explain, _Mellonnen_.  But not here.  Please.  We have encountered dangers during our journey.”

                Being diplomatic and seeing the implication, Elrond and his riders strode forward towards Gandalf’s companions before he recognized one particular Dwarf out of the reticent Company.  Elrond gave a polite and sincere bow.

                “Well met, Thorin, son of Thrain.  You and your kin are welcome in Imladris.”

                Thorin’s look darkened as he rudely kept his sword pointed up and at ready.     

                “I do not believe we have met.”

                “You have your grandfather’s bearing.  I knew Thror when he ruled under the Mountain.”

                “Indeed.  He made no mention of you.”

                Gandalf inwardly groaned as he fought the urge to snap and lecture Thorin about his rudeness.  Thankfully, Elrond’s face was blank and his smirk never wavered, as if he found Thorin’s impertinence to be no more offensive than a butterfly.  But then to the Dwarves’ confusion, Elrond’s gaze then rested on Lion-O, and his demeanor changed.  If anything, he actually looked amazed (a rare occurrence if any).

                Elrond’s twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir, as well as the other Rivendell Elves, were also staring at Lion-O with a combination of revelation and incredulity.  Bilbo cautiously inched closer to his son and held Lion-O’s paw.  Granted, they weren’t staring at the Cat out of hate, fear, and disgust like many of the Shire residents had in Lion-O’s first years, but still…

                “Is that the - ?” asked Elladan in wonderment, only to be cut off by a stern glare from Gandalf.

                Lion-O felt hot under his collar.  First Radagast, and now Elves?

                Still, remembering his manners, Lion-O stood at attention and bowed slightly, saying, “Lion-O Baggins, at your service.”

                Elrond smiled warmly at the gesture while the Dwarves were still bordering on suspicion and dislike.  The Elven Lord then turned to his group and gently murmured in their foreign tongue.  The other Dwarves automatically jumped to the worst conclusion.

                “What is he saying?  Does he offer us insult?” Glóin barked.

                “Master Elrond is offering us food and beds as his guests!” snapped Bilbo loudly at the entire Company.  Normally, he’d be more restrained and polite, but frankly, this entire ordeal had his nerves and patience on end.

                This caused the whole Company to turn towards their burglar in surprise.

                Thorin bristled and glared at the Hobbit, recollecting that Bilbo understood Sindarin, the language of the Elves.  For some reason, he let his disgust and injury known as the burly King glared darkly at Bilbo as if the Hobbit committed an unforgiveable crime.

                Bilbo just ignored Thorin.

                The other Dwarves blinked before they shared a quick look, several murmurings in Khuzdul, and then an agreement.

                “Ah well, in that case, lead on,” conceded Glóin, a bit sheepish.

                “What?!” snapped Óin, holding a hand cupped to his ear and still left out of the loop about what was going on, “What did you say?!”

                A thought struck Ori as he piped up, “Wait!  Shouldn’t we take the body of the Bird with us?  Maybe it can give us a clue as to why we were attacked?”

                “A body?” Elrohir asked, puzzled, “What body are you referring to, Master Dwarf?”

                “Are you blind, lad?  We killed an oversized raven earlier when that bizarre flock attacked us!  It’s right over…” but Bofur’s cheery and confident voice died as he turned around only to find nothing but the empty grass.  Indeed, when the rest of the Company turned around to see, they too were disturbed at the revelation.

                The Bird’s body was gone.

* * *

  
Art done by [Jess Deaton](http://jess-deaton11392.tumblr.com/)

                _She deserves more than this._

                General Lynx-O was deep in thought as he rubbed circles in between the shoulders of Willa’s back, staring at the curves of her body underneath the ratty sheet, her soft, brown fur, her ebony hair cascading down her back.  He couldn’t help but give a little squeeze, his strong arms bringing Willa closer as they cuddled under the shadows of their tent.

                _We couldn’t even have a wedding, something that could at least give her happy memories._

                Lynx-O commanded hundreds of Cats with stern ruthlessness and unforgiving ambition to shape the Cats to be the best of all, his fellow sergeants and soldiers his pride and joy and who obeyed him without cheek.  Lynx-O could easily snap a Lizard’s neck without blinking.   Lynx-O could behead a Dog and not even flinch as the blood would spray and splatter over his face.  He even stood by Claudus’ side as he tried to fight Mumm-Ra in the Bird city of Avista, with true loyalty and unwavering boldness.

                But the thought of how he could only manage a poor ceremony by candlelight with Jaga and Claudus ordaining, and with Tygra, Panthro, and Nayda as witnesses always succeeded in driving a spike of regret into his chest.  The only food they had afterwards was just a pitiful amount of water and fish.

                _We can’t even raise a family._

                Being in the forsaken wilderness with little food and wandering around without a permanent home while pursued by the enemy was not the ideal condition to have children.  Willa was charitable when she accepted this as fact, and she had more than enough on her plate to supervise the other Amazons in protecting the Cat refugees.  Plus, the surviving orphans adored her, and she learned to be content with that.  But Lynx-O couldn’t help but dream of how much pride and joy his heart would fill when he could arrive into their home and see his wife with their newborn in her hands, a beautiful son or daughter.

                The female Amazon Cat almost seemed to know what Lynx-O was thinking as she gently rested a hand on her husband’s bare chest, tickling his fur.

                “Do you want to talk?” Willa asked gently.

                Lynx-O didn’t answer for a bit as he stared mournfully at the dried and pressed Day Astrid flower in her dark hair, with its lone, remaining petal, slightly brown and withered, but still whole.

                His courting gift to her.

                Lynx-O remembered how nervous he was when he presented it with Claudus’ blessings, how Willa’s eyes sparkled as she jumped in Lynx-O’s brawny arms as she kissed him, how he prayed many thanks to the Ancient Spirits of Light that the leader of the Amazon Cats would ever fall in love with an old, blind dodger like him when she had her choice of younger and far superior Cats over he, how elated he was to plan their future…

                It was ironic that the Fall of Thundera happened less than a month later.

                “Just how much I wish I could give you more,” Lynx-O finally lamented.

                Willa felt frustration churn in her gut.  If she told him once, she told him a thousand times…

                “I don’t care,” Willa said.

                “You deserve jewelry, the finest rubies and diamonds to grace your fur…”

                “ _I don’t care._ ”

                “I want to give you land, a small cottage by a serene lake and a fruit grove where we can raise children in peace, with full stomachs and a stocked larder.”

                “We have each other.”

                “I want to give you beautiful dresses, fine satin and silk intertwined with gold.”

                “Lynx-O…”

                Now Lynx-O’s breath was ragged, and his words were hoarse with guilt and shame.

                “You deserve to be happy.”

                Trying to make her point clear, Willa placed a finger on Lynx-O’s lips, effectively stopping his monologue.

                “I **_am_** happy, love,” she whispered, her eyes looking into Lynx-O’s dead ones.

                Lynx-O still didn’t look like her believed her.

                Willa then grinned impishly as she slowly eased herself on top of her husband, the Amazon Cat straddling Lynx-O and gently rubbing her hands on the General’s torso, massaging Lynx-O’s muscles and frame.

                “And I know what can make me happier…” she hinted seductively.  Lynx-O couldn’t help but growl with a smile.

                “Round three _already_?  Have mercy on an old Cat, love!” Lynx-O mock protested before he and Willa drew close, their lips meeting.

                “Ahem…hate to interrupt, but there’s been a development,” spoke a voice loudly from the mouth of their tent.

                Funny how effectively a romantic moment could be brought to a screeching halt.

                Lynx-O cursed several foul words under his breath before he snapped, “Mumm-Ra better be attacking the campgrounds!”

                Lynxanna, who was politely waiting outside with crossed arms, answered with some hesitation, “Close.  Jaga and his Clerics returned.  You’re **not** going to like this…”

                There was already a throng of Cats gathered around King Claudus and his court, muttering or chattering with mixtures of distress, panic, and speculation.

                “I see it, but I can’t believe it…”

                “It can’t be!”

                “How is this possible?”

                “Are you sure this isn’t another similar being from this planet?”

                “By the Ancients!”

                “Maybe this is a trick…”

                “That’s right!  We can’t trust Jaga entirely!”

                “We are **so** screwed!”

                “ **SILENCE!** ” roared King Claudus, and that instantly made all of the Thunderians stop, the scene around them tense but so still you could hear the lion ruler breathing heavily with a combination of frustration and stress.

                Lynx-O and Willa managed to push their way through the front of the crowd (with one or two Cats noticing that Willa’s hair was slightly messy as if she just rose out of bed, and Lynx-O was wearing his shirt inside-out).  Both of the Cats were rendered mute with shock as Jaga and the two Clerics that accompanied him dumped the body of the Birdman, Blagden, in front of the muscular lion(with Tygra, vexed Grune, and Panthro standing alongside their monarch).

                King Claudus, with a troubled frown, looked at Jaga who recounted the past events with a calm yet grave tone.

                “General Vultaire and his Birds attacked the Lost Prince and the Company of Thorin Oakenshield on their way to seek shelter from an outpost of Elves,” the Head Cleric reported, “We retrieved the body of one of the Silverhawks not only as proof of this occurrence, but to also not give the inhabitants of Middle Earth any further clue about our whereabouts and infiltration.  The less evidence they have, the easier it would be to prevent widespread suspicion and alarm.”

                “Did the Dwarves or anyone see you and your Clerics at the scene?” Panthro asked.

                “No, we fled too quickly for any observers to clearly witness our presence, but…Jaga did use his magic to prevent the Silverhawks from killing one Dwarf of the Company,” one of the Clerics stated.  This brought a few scowls from the audience (especially Claudus).

                “You shouldn’t have intervened!” snapped Grune, “One dead Dwarf doesn’t matter in the long run!”

                “The Dwarves are innocent victims, just like the Fishmen, the Berbils, the Elephants, and Viragor,” the other Cleric meaningfully objected for Jaga’s defense.  Still, this did little to appease the onlookers.  Jaga was a bit vexed at how Claudus looked like he agreed with Grune.

                At the same time, Tygra and Lynx-O were studying the dead Bird.

                “Flexible high-tech armor of plastics and metal fiber, just like in our world…” Tygra murmured, agitated.

                Lynx-O sniffed Blagden’s stiff arm and helmet before he stated, “I smell faint odors of motor oil and Thunderillium on the Bird’s feathers, signs of technology and machinery that would not be possible on this primitive world of magic.  There’s also the aroma of Lizards and Dogs, most likely due to being in close quarters with other animals under the command of Slithe and Kaynar.  There’s no question about it: this is one of the Silverhawks from Third Earth, **_not_** a resident from Middle Earth.”

                Jaga was telling the truth.

                Torr stammered in the background, his face white, “But…but if the Silverhawks and Vultaire are in this world…”

                The Cat soldier left it unfinished, but everyone all around instantly latched onto the next logical step, and a deep feeling of unease and anxiety clutched at their hearts and souls like ice.

                King Claudus, with dark eyes and his jaw set, exhaled wearily.

                “ _Whiskers…_ ” King Claudus cursed.


	8. Worrisome Questions

                “Where’s the meat?” grumbled Dwalin none too gracefully, actually being quite rude as he frowned at Elrond’s dining table laden with food that was fit for an Elf King.

                Which apparently was the main problem as the Dwarves eyed the feast with disappointed and disdainful bellyaching.

                Crisp salads and bowl of various berries, shining with dew, competed against fresh-baked breads and pastries, savory and sweet and complete with almond cream and apple butter.  Sautéed mushrooms and spinach tarts in flaky crusts, baked carrots and hazelnuts in honey, steamed cabbage and chard with a tasty vinaigrette dressing, two iron tureens of a hearty bean soup, and beet pasties dripping with onion gravy.

                And yet not a single starchy potato or morsel of red meat.  Even a paltry crumb of fish would have been welcome.

                Óin the Dwarf healer sighed, already despondent considering that his ear trumpet was now crushed and unsalvageable beyond repair.  The fact he couldn’t eat his fill only further demoralized Óin.

                “Have they got any chips?” Óin complained, spearing a piece of carrot and staring at it balefully as if it were a grave insult.

                “At least _some_ of us are enjoying the meal,” Glóin tried to supplicate helpfully as Thorin and the rest of the Dwarves sullenly watched Bilbo and Lion-O Baggins eagerly tearing into the repast, crunching and savoring each succulent course with the silverware laid out for them.

                Startlingly, even the Dwarves Bifur and Bombur were hungrily gobbling and munching on the fresh lettuce and chard happily, blissfully content, while a bored Bofur watched his brothers with little surprise.

                Fíli leaned over and asked hesitantly, “Is Master Bifur addled due to the axe in his head?”

                Bofur absently bit into a piece of bread as he clarified, “No, no, Prince Fíli.  Even _before_ the Battle of Azanulbizar, Bifur’s always loved greens.  And Bombur’s not picky; he’ll eat **anything**.”

                “ _Really?_   I would have never even guessed,” chirped Fíli sassily as the fat Bombur helped himself greedily to a fourth bowl of soup, earning a lighthearted laugh from Bofur.

                Lion-O was doing his best to offer a platter of beet pasties to young Ori, who was sitting next to him.

                “Come now, Ori!” Lion-O tried to encourage, “The pasties are wonderful!  They even have chives and green onions brushed on top of the crusts.”

                The Dwarf Scribe just clamped his mitted hands over his mouth, shaking his head forcefully like a petulant toddler.

                “Ori, eat your greens…” Dori lectured authoritatively as he swatted his younger brother upside the head lightly.

                Ori stuck his tongue out at Dori.

                “You first, Dori.”

                Dori looked at his baleful plate of salad (which he only managed a few bites of) before he grimaced and hurriedly sidetracked.

                “Don’t question me, young Dwarfling.  I **am** your older brother.”

                Nori falsely coughed into his hand, which sounded suspiciously like the word, “ _hypocrite_ ”.

                Dori gave a death glare at Nori while Ori snorted through his nose, trying to suppress his laughter.

                Óin just turned to his brother with a spiteful eye.

                “Tell that to my empty and protesting stomach…” Óin sniped at Glóin.

                Lion-O then began to notice that few of the other Dwarves were enjoying the meal (and Thorin looked especially disgusted as if he wanted to storm out of the dining hall right then and there), but while he was trying to think of the words to encourage the resentful Company, Bilbo was charmingly taking rather softly and amiably to two Elf maidens (who giggled and smiled at the Hobbit’s words).

                “What’s the Burglar doing?” Glóin whispered to Nori and Balin, but Fíli answered for them.

                “Mister Boggins is talking to the Tree-Shaggers…in _Sindarin_ ,” Fíli said in a stunned whisper.

                Thorin glared heatedly at Bilbo and Lion-O, incredibly affronted at the traitorous move.

                If that grocer and his Housecat were leaking secrets of their mission, there would be absolute Hell to pay.

                At that moment, the regal Lord Elrond walked up to the table along with Gandalf, the two of them chatting away like old friends.

                “Kind of you to invite us.  I'm not really dressed for dinner,” Gandalf chuckled as he sat down.

                “Well, you never are,” Elrond responded with a warm smile as both he and the wizard seated at the head of the table.

                As Elrond was translating the Elvish writing on Gandalf and Thorin’s swords, to reveal that they were respectfully named Glamdring and Orcrist, Lion-O couldn’t help but feel a little resentful and jealous.  He would have gotten a wonderful sword especially made in the First Age no less!  Even his father’s sword was magnificent, although Balin teased Bilbo on it being more of a “letter opener”.

                “Maybe you could name your blade ‘Mangy’, eh Housecat?” Kíli tried to lighten the mood with a toothy smile as he flicked a bean at Lion-O from his bowl.

                “Or are ‘Grimy’ and ‘Louse-Ridden’ more appropriate choices?” Fíli asked innocently enough.

                Lion-O just gave the two Princes a baleful glare.

                “How about ‘The Prince Skewer’?  For the strangest reason, the name has an alluring ring to it…” growled Lion-O only for Kíli and Fíli to raise their hands in apology.

                “Joke.  Joke.  It was a joke, Housecat.  Ha ha ha?” Fíli tried to placate genially.

                “Lion-O, remember that we **are** guests…” Bilbo warned mildly before Lion-O could retort what exactly he would find humorous in this instant.

                Then to Thorin and the Company’s surprise, the two Elf maidens along with four other male Elves came out with large platters of freshly roasted pheasants and game birds, dripping with popping fat and heavily seasoned with thyme, salt, and pepper, along with boiled potatoes of gold and brown, piping hot and sprinkled with dandelion milk, parsley, and rosemary.  There were even surprise trays of freshly fried eggs, circles of white and yellow and oozing on top of slices of herb toast.

                This brought a cheer as the Dwarves’ expressions lit up and they yelled with absolute joy, applauding as if they had discovered and reclaimed Erebor itself.

                Even Thorin himself managed a small smile and nod as the new food was set before them and the Dwarves set themselves upon the new dishes with ravenous interest.  The stuffed Bifur and Bombur joined in with the Company, despite previously having their fill.

                Kíli, looking amazed, called out to Bilbo, “ _Oi!_   Mister Boggins!  Whatever did you say to the Elves?”

                Bilbo smiled before he replied, “I merely said that my son and I have never tasted such delicious bean soup before in our lives, and that the seasoning of the mushroom and spinach tarts was enough to make our tongues sing.  However, I asked if it would be possible to provide potatoes and meat to the rest of the Company because I would worry if we went to bed hungry and did not have the strength to travel and trek on the next day.  It helps to remember your manners and the language of the Elves.”

                Kíli took the lesson by heart as his brother stuffed a pheasant leg in his mouth.

                “How do you say thank you, Mister Boggins?”

                Bilbo slowly enunciated, “ _Le fael.  Le hannon._ ”

                Kíli nodded before he leapt up from his chair and ran up to the six waitrons before he bowed slightly in respect and said with careful enunciation before repeating it again with another bow to Lord Elrond.

                “ _Le fael.  Le hannon._ ”

                Beaming, Elrond chuckled at the apparent gratitude and manners as he and the other Elves smiled at the thanks and effort of respectful appreciation of a Dwarf learning Sindarin.  Thorin just grumbled under his breath, but he thankfully was perceptive enough to keep his commentary to himself (and low enough out of the Elves’ sharp hearing).

                And then Kíli turned to one of the Elf maidens before he roguishly and charmingly winked, showing his dimples as he dallied.

                This brought a stunned silence from the other Dwarves as they stared at the raven-haired prince.  Even Lion-O blinked at this sudden flirting.  To his credit, Kíli just shrugged at the Dwarves’ gawking.

                “I can’t say I fancy elf maids myself.  Too thin.  They’re all high cheekbones and creamy skin.  Not enough facial hair for me.  Although… _that_ one there’s not bad.”

                It was then that Dwalin smirked.

                “That was no Elf maid.”

                Blinking, Kíli turned back to the server only to find that Dwalin spoke to the truth.  The Elf Kíli just winked at was a **_male_** Elf.

                The entire table roared with laughter as Kíli hunched his shoulders, blushing furiously and looking rather put off.  Even the male Elf Kíli tried to seduce snickered, eyes twinkling at the humor, as Elrond, Gandalf, and the other Rivendell denizens joined in on the glee.

* * *

                Later that evening, as the setting sun cast rosy colors in the dusk sky, Lion-O felt a little elated as he approached the Dwarf named Óin.  The said Dwarf agitatedly tossed various objects left and right over his shoulder as he rummaged and delved through his pack.

                “Master Óin?” Lion-O spoke from behind only to be angrily rebuffed by the gray-haired, bushy Dwarf.

                “ **Not now** , Young Baggins!” snapped Óin as he combed, “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

                “Doing what, pray tell?”

                “…what do you want, Lion-O?” groused the Dwarf healer jadedly upon lacking to find a reasonable excuse, only for him to blink dumbly as Lion-O presented his gift that he was hiding behind his back.

                It was Óin’s ear trumpet, now fully whole and fixed back to its original shape.  Granted, Lion-O did the best he could with Elrond’s help at Rivendell’s own modest forge, but despite his lack of experience, Lion-O could honestly say his efforts weren’t bad at all.  Lion-O felt elated at helping out and showing he wasn’t useless.

                Óin gingerly picked up his beloved ear trumpet between his gloved hands, turning over his instrument with a frown as he inspected and analyzed his hearing aid.

                Lion-O puffed up his chest, standing straighter as he prepared himself for the joyful thanks and tearful accolades at his generosity.

                “You call this inadequate endeavor **_fixing it_** , you dunce?!” yelled Óin, his eyes flashing as he waved the ear trumpet like a flag while getting right up to the Cat’s face (or waist in this scenario).

                Lion-O was dumbfounded, dismayed and appalled all at once.

                “I – what - ?” stammered Lion-O, wide-eyed and hands up helplessly.

                “ _This is horrendous!_   Shoddy work and craftsmanship!  Not even a Dwarfling could make such obvious mistakes with their first lesson in the Great Forges!” Óin objected vulgarly.

                “But - !” was all Lion could voice out before Óin carried on, insistent.

                “You softened the metal too much!  So much hammering forces the pewter to weaken and crumple easily!  Can you even _see_ all the indents and cavities you failed to smooth out and left behind, Housecat?!  Or were you that callous and careless with your hammering?!”

                Now Lion-O was starting to get angry, his face flushing heatedly under his fur.

                “Master Óin, please - !” Lion-O tried to butt in.

                “The tip of my horn is still missing the wax pad that prevents it from cutting into my ear!”

                “It’s not - !”

                “And you failed to take the appropriate measurements of its original size before working on your second-rate repair!  It’s far too big for me to grip firmly in one hand!”

                “I just wished - !”

                “ _I wouldn’t give this blasted junk to an Orc!_ ”

                “ ** _MASTER ÓIN, I WAS JUST TRYING TO HELP!_** ” roared Lion-O, now completely done in.

                Panting and his heart hammering hard against his chest, Lion-O was now dizzy with rage and he glared at the Dwarf, now having a sudden urge to kick him.  Óin harrumphed as he walked away, placing the ear trumpet in his left ear.

                “I suppose it’s better than nothing…” the Dwarf muttered as he tottered off, leaving behind a seething Cat teenager.

                After subjugating Lion-O to a scathing and unjustifiable admonishment.

                That blasted Dwarf didn’t even say “thank you”.

                “AARRGGHH!”

                Now unable to hold still, Lion-O let out a frustrated noise as he lashed out and kicked the nearest object, which happened to be a wooden chair and sending it skidding and tumbling a few feet away.  Heaving, Lion-O still didn’t feel the least bit better as he just wanted to thrash something (preferably Óin)

                “Perhaps I should ask forgiveness for such a foolish question, but are you all right, Young Baggins?” spoke a voice from behind.

                “Although if you _must_ flog away at something, Father hated that rickety chair so I daresay it would hardly be missed if it helps you alleviate your turbulence,” spoke another male.

                Lion-O turned to see Lord Elrond’s sons, Elladan and Elrohir, looking at him inquisitively with a mixture of sympathy and concern.  Quickly setting aside his anger and heaving several deep breaths to calm himself, the Baggins ward smartly stood at attention and bowed respectfully.

                “Well met, Master Elves.  Lion-O Baggins at your service.  To whom do I have the pleasure to make acquaintance with?”

                The handsome twins, so like their father with their pale skin, brown hair, and dark eyes, smiled warmly before bowing to Lion-O, introducing themselves as, “Elrohir and Elladan, son of Lord Elrond of Rivendell, son of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn.  Well met, Lion-O Baggins.”

                “Well met.”

                The two Elven warriors approached the Cat was wonder and amazed curiosity, making Lion-O a bit wary and confused.

                “Are…are you _actually_ covered in fur?” Elladan asked, his eyes bright like stars.

                “And is that a tail?  Like a lion?  Hence your name?” Elrohir asked, gazing and drinking the sight of all of Lion-O’s body deeply, studying him.

                “Is it true that you are Mithrandir’s godson?”

                “Have you lived among the Hobbits of the Shire and of Hobbiton?”

                “Is it correct that you can see in dark?”

                “How well of a climber are you?  Mithrandir has told us that you are an excellent rambler, a mere blur amongst the leaves.”

                “Can you communicate with other animals?”

                “How is it you have red hair?”

                “Do you really have claws and fangs like a normal cat?”

                “Can…” and at this, Elladan hesitated before he asked tentatively and courteously, “ _May I_ feel your pelt?”

                Lion-O blinked, but at the very least, it wasn’t a perverse and offensive request.  He held up an arm and rolled back the sleeve of his blue housecoat.

                “You may,” Lion-O agreed, and both of the young Elves brushed and rolled their slim fingers through Lion-O’s fleece, taking in the texture and scent of the soft fuzz.  Lion-O was now beginning to be a bit apprehensive at the sudden attention, as if he were a carnival attraction at a circus to be gawked at until Elrohir then smiled a ribald smirk, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

                “Do you shed like a dandelion puff, Young Baggins?”

                The question was so ludicrous and silly that Lion-O couldn’t help but laugh, and seeing that their teasing was well received, both of Elrond’s sons began to guffaw too.  Lion-O felt his heart and spirits lighten as he walked with both of the twins across the scenic courtyards.  In a strange way, Elrohir and Elladan were not too different from Kíli and Fíli, only far more dignified and reserved.

                Lion-O was suddenly wishing he and Bilbo and the Company would never leave Rivendell as he finished explaining the fabricated excuse of his reasons for travelling with the Company, and though unforgotten, Lion-O earlier wrath at Óin disrespect was beginning to diminish.

                “And that is why my father and I have left the Shire,” Lion-O said as he then asked as an afterthought, “Masters Elladan and Elrohir…perhaps you or your father could know?  Have you seen any other Cat people such as myself?  Do you have any possible awareness of where I could have come from?”

                Elrohir thought about it, his brow furrowed a bit before he confessed, “We apologize, Lion-O.  But though we have traveled and walked with the Rangers of the North and of Ithilien, I personally have **_never_** recalled any sighting or rumors of various animals that can talk and walk like the Men.  Whether they be Cats…or Birds.”

                It was a sobering thought, and Lion-O partly couldn’t believe how quickly he forgotten about Vultaire and his Silverhawk’s ambush on the Company.

                “Wait, so these strange ‘Bird-Men’ are _not_ creatures that you have encountered regularly such as the Orcs and the Wargs?”

                Elrohir replied, “No, and **that** is what is disconcerting to both Mithrandir and our Father.  Such abnormal and outlandish individuals that have never before been witnessed in our lands could be an indication of an attack from a great enemy or an unwelcome invader to Arda.  Or perhaps this may even be a ghastly ruse of Sauron himself.”

                “But – but Sauron is dead…” Lion-O protested through his dry mouth at the thought of the Dark Lord that nearly sent Middle Earth into an age of despair and shadow.

                Elladan interjected, “Which is why it is only a mere possibility, and it would require a thorough investigation while Mithrandir holds council.  Although if you want my opinion, the possibility that your Prince Fíli had brought up is the most likely scenario: you and these Birds, if they _are_ related, could have originated from the lands of the East, where not even the Rangers have traversed.  But then that raises questions on how you could have survived the trek as a mere babe, and how you and these fowls were never spotted before in any past Rangers’ reports.  Not even Mithrandir or Radagast can trek across the lands without escaping detection of some sort.”

                “But if you **are** from the East, then the Dwarves are most likely your best chance in finding your family.  We Elves have no ties to that land, but the Seven Families of Aulë do, so it is indeed fortunate that you are travelling with the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

                “Although Dwarves are normally not that altruistic.  Is that the _only_ reason that they are trekking across the lands to the Misty Mountains and escorting you and Master Bilbo, Lion-O?”

                At this last question, Elladan raised an eyebrow as he studied Lion-O intently.  Lion-O blinked before he lowered his gaze and stammered out a reply.  As much as he hated lying, he did sign a contract with Thorin and he certainly didn’t want to fall any more out of favor with the Dwarves than he had to.

                “Well…” Lion-O replied, “Yes.  That is what they told me.”

                Thankfully, both Elladan and Elrohir left it at that, nodding.  Still, thankfully, they did not press the issue as the conversation veered towards Thorin and his Company of Dwarves.

                “I do hope that Thorin Oakenshield and his loyal followers do not stay indefinitely.  We have already gone through half of our wine reserves, and to be quite frank, they can be an incommodious and bothersome lot.  I am also quite sure that they are using our guest couch as firewood,” Elladan grumbled.

                “I would be willing to bet money that Thorin Oakenshield would readily agree with you on the desire to not stay indefinitely,” Lion-O murmured in sympathy, but to his surprise, Elrohir seemed quite casual and relaxed.

                “Come now, I know the Dwarves are rather strange by our standards, but let us see this visit as a chance for us to enrich our minds with new points of view!  We could learn so much about Aulë’s children such as understanding more nuanced views of the culture, their superb craftsmanship of their jewelry, and…and…”

                Elrohir’s voice died in his throat as he, Elladan, and Lion-O gazed upon the sight from the stairs in disgust and shocked repulsion.

                The majority of the Dwarves of Thorin’s Company were all yelling, laughing, and roughhousing.

                _Completely_ nude.

                And bathing in Lord Elrond’s public fountains of his gardens.

                Lion-O, now completely humiliated, just wearily covered his face with both hands.

                First Bag End, and now Rivendell?

                Elladan finally managed to utter through his horrified outrage, “…we’re burning that water.”

                “I am so, **so** sorry…” moaned Lion-O.

                Maybe staying indefinitely in Rivendell wasn’t such a good idea after all…

* * *

                Later that night, as the moon and the stars were high above the skies and the crickets and fireflies were singing and dancing throughout the trees and fields of Rivendell, Elrond and Gandalf were gravely discussing the past events of the day.  It was not long after the reveal of the Moon Runes on Thorin’s map that located the secret entrance on the rear of the Lonely Mountain, and Thorin’s brusque behavior and adamant resolve to reclaim his birthright just further perturbed Lord Elrond as the Elf tried to reason diplomatically with the Gandalf.

                “Gandalf, you know as well as I do that those strange Bird-Men that attacked Thorin and his Company are not native to Arda itself in all of its existence.  These foreigners are a result of the Lion-Child you spirited away from the world beyond, are they not?” the Elf asked.

                Gandalf ruefully nodded as he tried to pacify, “I do not know what exactly their intent is, but from what I can discern from Jaga’s warnings, more is to come.  Lion-O may be the indirect cause of such an invasion, but his destiny would always be tied to Mumm-Ra, and as such, Jaga decided that he could never bring himself to murder a child.  And I agree with him, especially with one with such an important role.”

                “And has this Jaga told you anything else since the last appearance in the Astral Plane?” Elrond enquired as they both began to walk alongside a marvelous marble bridge.  Gandalf remained a bit silent as he dolefully admitted.

                “No.”

                Elrond pressed gently, “And it does not occur to you that perhaps Jaga is as much of an invader with questionable intentions as this Mumm-Ra?  Going by the word of one Cat-Man Cleric does not make him a stunning character reference.”

                “I do not feel that neither he nor my godson are a danger.”

                “ **You** may **feel** that, but others do not.  Let me remind you that you are not the only Guardian to stand watch over Middle Earth, and Saruman was the one who was the most vocal against allowing Young Lion-O to stay in this realm.  He was not be pleased when he learns of this attack, even if we have no physical proof.”

                “I shall handle his concerns, my friend.  Lion-O is mine and Bilbo Baggins’ responsibility to bear, and no one else’s.”

                Not too far off, hidden next to the shrubbery and shadows, Bilbo Baggins was curiously watching on Gandalf and Lord Elrond, his ears perking up with interest at Lion-O’s name.  He continued to listen in on the dire conversation, but to his disappointment, his son was no longer mentioned as Elrond then brought up a surprising tangent.

                “That dragon has slept for sixty years. What will happen if your plan should fail, if you wake that beast?” Elrond pointed out with a dire tone.

                Gandalf then guilelessly returned, “What if we _succeed_? If the dwarves take back the mountain, our defenses in the East will be strengthened.”

                It was then that Bilbo realized that they were discussing the quest to Erebor.  And it was also then that, with a small startled jump, that Thorin Oakenshield himself was standing quietly next to the Hobbit.  The Dwarf King’s face was impassive and blank as stone as he spied down while Gandalf and Elrond continued to dispute.

                “It is a dangerous move, Gandalf.”

                “It is also dangerous to do nothing. The throne of Erebor is Thorin's birthright, so what is it you fear?”

                Elrond then made his point as he spoke bluntly, “Have you forgotten?   **A strain of madness runs deep in that family.**  His grandfather lost his mind, and his father succumbed to the same sickness.  Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?  Gandalf, these decisions do not rest with us alone. It is not up to you or me to redraw the map of Middle Earth.”

                Bilbo suddenly felt awkward and uncomfortable as Thorin stiffened beside him.  As Gandalf and Elrond continued to saunter away, too far to hear, Bilbo then chanced a look at Thorin’s face.

                The Dwarf was unreadable, but the Hobbit then noticed his eyes were dark and stormy with a twinge of self-reproach.

                Unwilling to be within the presence of others, Thorin stiffly turned and walked away.

                “Thorin…”

                Bilbo shocked even himself.  He had no idea why he called out to the Dwarf King like that.  And he was even more astounded when Thorin snapped back over his shoulder, annoyed.

                “What is it, Halfling?”

                “I…if you need someone to talk to - ”

                Thorin’s voice had a fatigued edge as he highlighted, “We are **not** friends, Burglar.”

                “Fine, then perhaps talk to Master Balin or Master Dwalin or perhaps some other Dwarf you do trust as a friend,” Bilbo tried again, and Thorin just glared poisonously at the Hobbit.

                “Why would a grocer like you care about a Dwarf?” Thorin growled.

                Bilbo admirably decided to not rise up to the bait as he hesitated before replying, “I see no reason to _not_ care.”

                Thorin looked at Bilbo for several long seconds, his eyes dark and dissecting until he shook his head in resignation.

                “You should have never left your home in the Shire,” Thorin declared acutely, and Bilbo looked on in pity at the raven-haired Dwarf King.

                In the interim, Balin, Dwalin, Nori, and Glóin were quietly discussing the past events in Khuzdul with the Wargs, the Orcs, and of course, the strange anthropomorphic Birds that attacked them.

                “ _This is getting far stranger and more dangerous than I have ever imagined…_ ” Dwalin mused thoughtfully as he watched the flames flicker, “ _Where in the name of Mahal have these queer Birds originated from?_ ”

                “ _That is true…_ ” Balin said as he structured his thoughts in a procedural manner, “ _Never before has such creatures ever been recorded or witnessed before in all of Arda!  And now we have met feathered avians and ravens that fight with weapons, wear armor, and talk like the Menfolk!  Why **now** though?  Especially during our precarious mission to reclaim the Lonely Mountain?_ ”

                “ _It **is** bad timing…_ ” Glóin admitted.

                “ _Could it be due to the Young Baggins?_ ” Dwalin muttered suspiciously, “ _After all, after Nori’s testimony of the two children with tails that have rescued us from the Trolls, I am starting to suspect that none of these attacks would have happened if we had not brought the Cat with us.  Lion-O may very well be tied with all of these strange occurrences._ ”

                “ _It is difficult to say.  It could be either he is an innocent bystander in this or he is secretly working against us and wishes to sabotage our mission.  Despite his naiveté, it could be possible it is a front and that he may have dishonorable intentions_ ,” Nori rationalized, which brought a sneer from Dwalin.

                “ _I guess it takes one to know one, does it not?_ ” Dwalin spitefully and snidely pointed out, which brought a rude hand gesture from Nori.

                “ _Just wait until I find something to hold over your head, Captain of Nothing.  Then **I’ll** be the one gloating!_ ” Nori smiled with a rather menacing and toothy grin.

                To most of the group’s surprise, Fíli then interjected.

                “ _No, I refuse to believe that Lion-O is a turncoat.  I may have only interacted with the Housecat for a few days, but I truly sense he is a good person.  You have not witnessed how he interacted with the Thain of the Shire in wanting to compensate for the damages to his home or the bond of family and affection between him and Master Boggins.  I may not have many seasons of reading others and diplomatic flair such as Master Balin, but I truly believe Lion-O wishes to find his kind and answers to his past._ ”

                “ _Young Prince, I think you may be mistaken_ ,” Dwalin spoke condescendingly, only for Fíli to give the Dwarf Captain a steely look.

                “ _The Housecat helped rescue my brother from the birds that tried to carry him off.  If he had not intervened, Kíli might have met the same as Oin’s fate.  I **cannot and will not** ignore such an act._”

                “ _He could be trying to win your trust, could have staged such a target to make himself look good.  Keep in mind, none of those strange winged aliens have attacked him or the Burglar_ ,” Dwalin pointed out.

                Fíli then reminded Dwalin, “ _But Gandalf, one of the Maiar of Arda, has known him and Mister Boggins for years and is even the Housecat’s Godfather.  I am quite sure that it would be very, **very** difficult to fool and trick **him**._ ”

                Nori nodded as he admitted, “ ** _That_** _one I’ll give you.  That would require a sense of guile and deception that not even I have._ ”

                Glóin, to everyone’s surprise, then offered his opinion.

                “ _I agree with Young Fíli.  I think Young Lion-O is a good one and would never mean any harm.  Eager to please and unaware with how the world operates outside the Shire, perhaps, but he is not a danger.  I think both of the Baggins are truly good souls._ ”

                “ _You are only saying that because the Cat fixed your brother’s ear trumpet_ ,” Nori snidely retorted, but that got a shrug of agreement from Glóin.

                “ _Again, I would like to remind you all that very few outside our race have treated Dwarves with such compassion and respect, so to see Young Lion-O try to go above and beyond for Óin just because he can already puts him leagues ahead of the other races._ ”

                “ _We are however forgetting one important fact: **the Birds are after Prince Fíli and Kíli.**   Remember what the leading Bird has uttered in battle? **‘I want the Prince alive’**.  So it is of utmost importance that we ensure your safety, Fíli._ ”

                “ ** _Kíli_** _is the Prince as well, Balin_ ,” frowned Fíli, not liking where this discussion was going.

                “ _But you **are** the Regent Prince, the one next in succession and the one Thorin and Dís have been instructing for the inevitable time when you become King._ ”

                “ _I will **not** risk my brother or my Uncle’s life for the sake of mine.  Or anyone else in the Company_,” Fíli declared darkly.

                “ _You don’t get a choice in that matter considering your own Uncle has given me the order to leave him behind if it meant saving you and Kíli.  You know as well as any of us do that he’d gladly die a thousand times over if it meant so that you two could live_ ,” Dwalin said.

                Fíli just glared and remained silent, but Balin could very well discern that the blond-haired Prince was thinking how to contest and oppose Thorin’s order every step of the way.  The white-haired Dwarf then sagely broke off the discussion as he concluded.

                “ _For now, nothing more can be done.  We will be more attuned to Fíli and Kíli’s safeties and focus more on being aware of our surroundings and make contingencies for future attacks by either the Birds or Orcs.  Let us retire to bed and plan further ideas for our trek to Erebor._ ”

                As Balin and the others were getting ready for bed, Lion-O was passing by Bifur, Bombur, and Bofur on his way back to his bedroll after a nice bath.  The three brothers laughing and chortling at a private joke as Bombur accidentally broke one of the Elvish chairs by merely sitting on it.  It was then that the Baggins ward recalled the incident where he fell asleep during his assigned guard duty.

                Bifur and Bombur were reserved and silent as the Cat ambled up to them, but Bofur cheerily waved as Lion-O approached.

                “Aye laddie, what can we do for you?” Bofur welcomed, lighting his pipe.

                Lion-O stood at full attention before he bowed a bit towards the glowering Bifur and gave his sincere apology.

                “Master Bifur, I have committed a grave offense to you, albeit unintentionally.  I got you in trouble and you shouldered the blame for my error of falling asleep at guard duty.  No apology can easily rectify my mistake, and I realize that promising that it will not happen again isn’t enough.  I ask what can I do to right the wrong against you.”

                Bifur actually stopped frowning, his expression going blank with surprise.  Bombur stared at Lion-O quizzically, as if not sure what to make of Lion-O’s apology.  Even Bofur paused in mid-puff, one eyebrow raised.

                The furry adolescent did his best to not squirm uncomfortably under the Dwarves’ gazes as he was scrutinized for ten long seconds.

                Then the strain burst as Bifur gave a chuckle, his eyes merrily glowing under the campfire as he then roughly spoke in Khuzdul, although it didn’t sound like he was annoyed or offended.  Bombur then translated.

                “When Bifur does latrine duty, you do the task for him,” grinned Bombur.

                Lion-O twitched before wincing.

                He absolutely **loathed** latrine duty and would gladly pay someone else to carry out the task.

                By Yavanna, the teen would rather deal with a bitter and resentful Dwarf again.

                Still…

                “I promise,” the furry teenager agreed wearily with a heavy exhale, and Bifur’s eyes just twinkled even more as he finally smiled underneath his whiskers.  Thankfully, Bofur and Bombur didn’t howl with laughter until Lion-O was well out of earshot and sulkily plodded back to where he and Bilbo set their sleeping rolls.

                For some unexplained reason, Lion-O’s aggravation with Dwarves had multiplied.

                Irritated, Lion-O just bad-naturedly kicked up a corner of a nearby rug on the floor before sitting down solidly next to Bilbo with a huff.  Crossing his arms over his knees and with muttered cursing, Lion-O just fumed and griped inwardly.  Until Bilbo fatherly and sternly tugged on one of the Cat’s pointed ears.

                “Language, my son,” Bilbo reprimanded.  He may not have Lion-O’s enhanced hearing, but he was wise enough to know swearing when he heard it.

                “It’s so… _infuriating_ that I am trying my best to make up for my mistakes and to be as polite and accommodating to these damned - !”

                Another yank from Bilbo had Lion-O retracting the word.

                “- these Dwarves, and yet they do nothing but mock me or disregard me with rude impunity!” Lion-O muttered.

                Bilbo patted Lion-O on the shoulder as he commiserated, “They can be a bit boorish, but losing your temper isn’t going to help matters, especially since the Dwarves are doing us a favor in allowing us to accompany them on their journey to find clues of your birthright.”

                Lion-O hated to admit that a small tendril of shame for forgetting that one tidbit, and he just silently sulked as he watched his Hobbit father blow smoke rings in the air.

                “Father, how is it that you never become indignant at their antics?” Lion-O asked finally.

                “There’s no point in being incensed at trivial matters,” Bilbo lectured between puffs.

                Like any sassy teenager, Lion-O brazenly leered, “Can I use that avowal the next time you get into an argument with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins over the last sack of sweet potatoes in the market?”

                Bilbo glared at his son for his presumptuousness as he waywardly cuffed Lion-O lightly at the back of the Cat’s head, scolding, “Do as I say, not as I do.  And Lobelia can go jump in the Brandywine the next time she - ”

                “Er…Housecat?” Kíli’s voice tentatively asked, and Lion-O tightened his jaw as he and Bilbo turned to see the Dwarf Princes, Kíli and Fíli, looking incredibly awkward but still determined as Fíli strode forward and cross his chest with one arm as a royal gesture.

                “Master Bilbo and Lion-O, a word if you may be both gracious to grant us a moment of your time?” Fíli requested in a civil and serious tone, and before Lion-O could snap back a rude retort, his Hobbit father thankfully beat the Cat to the punch.

                “Certainly, Prince Fíli.  To what do we own the pleasure of this visit?” Bilbo asked.

                Lion-O couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the word “pleasure”, but Fíli and Kíli’s next words were surprising to say the least.

                “We both owe you our deepest and most sincere thanks for not only your hospitality in Bag End, but for your brave actions earlier with the Birds.  You saved my brother, and for that, you have my most utmost gratitude and respect,” Fíli declared with seriousness as he gave a smooth bow.

                Kíli then also bowed before he then spoke directly to Lion-O, “And I truly apologize for teasing you, Lion-O Baggins.  I was having fun, but I realize now that you were not receiving the joshing well.  That was rather inconsiderate of me.  My intention was not to make you feel bad, but to rather cheer you up and lighten your spirits.  Still, I wrong to not acknowledge that such ribbing may not be well received.  I am sorry for that.  I would rather shear off my hair than degrade the kitten – er…the Baggins who broke my fall and spared me from a broken neck.”

                “And nearly broke my spine in the process…” muttered Lion-O under his breath only to get an elbow jab from his father, but he could admit that the majority of his resentment was lessening around his gut and shoulders.  Lion-O conceded that Kíli and Fíli at least had the decency to apologize.  Only a handful of people ever treated the Thunderian with that much politeness and respect.

                “Do you forgive us, Lion-O?” Kíli asked hesitsantly.

                “I’ll _think_ about it…” grumbled Lion-O without malice.  Thankfully, Bilbo just continued to smoke silently.

                Then unexpectedly, both Fíli and Kíli moped, giving shining, puppy dog eyes and jutted lips in melodramatic pouts, complete with whimpering noises.  Kíli’s lower lips was even trembling slightly, and Fíli had his hands out like a begging mongrel at the table for scraps.  Lion-O rolled his eyes at the theatrics.

                “All right, all right, I _accept_ your apology!  All is forgiven, and you two rogues can continue to call me ‘Housecat’ if you must!  Just quit the pitiable sham!”

                “Jolly good of you, Housecat!” Fíli exclaimed jovially as both of the Dwarves instantly dropped their shtick and “wounded cubs” act in a blink of an eye as Kíli pumped a fist in victory, cheering.  Bilbo chuckled as he blew a smoke ring.

                “Honestly, Kíli and Fíli.  First raiding my cellar and pantry, then being professional pouters that could put any of the Took Fauntlings to shame.  Are you two Warriors or Court Jesters?”

                “We’re royalty, Master Boggins!” Fíli bragged as he puffed up his chest and strutted.

                Lion-O and Bilbo both shared a look, their eyes twinkling.

                “ **Are** they royalty, Father?” Lion-O asked meaningfully.

                Bilbo played along as he looked at Kíli and Fíli.

                “They are Royal Pains, and yet Pained Royals like their Uncle Thorin,” Bilbo commented.

                The look of confusion on Kíli and Fíli’s faces was absolutely priceless.

                “ _Huh?_ ” gawked Kíli.

                “Was that a compliment?” queried a puzzled Fíli, blinking.

                “A pain in the spine or a pain in my head: a nuisance by a practical joke is not much better than a nuisance by Fíli’s throwing knife,” Lion-O commented.

                “That **was** a compliment, right, Fee?” Kíli asked his brother.

                “Fíli is like the sun, radiant and warm like his golden hair…” Bilbo crooned, and Fíli blushing, ate up the accolade like a starving man amid food.

                “Why thank you, Master Boggins!” Fíli laughed, preening while Kíli looked hurt as he gave mock-mournful puppy-dog eyes again, so Lion-O took pity on him.

                “While Kíli is like the moon, mysterious yet bright enough to shine through any darkness or gloominess …” Lion-O described, and that instantly made Kíli smile.

                “Why thank you, Housecat!” Kíli chortled, beaming.

                “They are two sides of the same coin; one is never without the other.”

                “You two are **such** charmers,” Fíli said.

                “They are brothers of one mind and one heart: they watch each other’s back in battle as well as each other’s jokes during their home invasions.”

                “Still sore about using up your ale, I see?” teased Kíli.

                “They are naughty, but devoted …” Bilbo continued.

                “They are rowdy, but helpful.  _At times…_ ” Lion-O said with a rueful smile as he slowly got up.

                “Eh, the Thain of your Shire will get over it,” waved off Fíli dismissively, blasé.

                “They are the Terrible Twos…” Bilbo stated.

                “They are the Lion and the Wolf…” Lion-O articulated, inching further and further away.

                “…I’m the Wolf, right Fee?” asked Kíli, uncertain.

                Fíli gave his brother a disparaging look.

                “They are the Synchronized Bow…”

                “They are the Fork and the Knife Juggler…”

                “Oh, go on, go on…” preened Kíli and Fíli pompously.

                Lion-O then felt a bit mischievous as he then decided the timing was just right when he slyly added over his shoulder, “And you two will **always** be the dunces who lost the ponies.”

                He was not disappointed in Kíli and Fíli’s response.

                “ ** _OI!_** ” they chorused in unison.

                “I daresay the little lion is making fun of us,” Kíli growled playfully.

                “Shall we get him, dear brother?” Fíli suggested, his eyes flashing with anticipation.  That was all the two needed as both the Princes immediately dashed forward Lion-O, intent on making him pay for that remark.  Upon seeing the Dwarves blitz him, Lion-O actually laughed as he sprinted away with Kíli and Fíli in good-natured pursuit.

                As much as Bilbo wanted to scold his son for not acting like a gentle-Hobbit, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the three’s antics.  And thankfully, Lion-O had longer legs and a greater stride that easily allowed him to outrun Kíli and Fíli before he effortlessly scaled up one of the trees and leered down on the two Dwarves at the ground below from the high branches.

                “Having trouble?” Lion-O teased the two as Kíli and Fíli quickly learned to their frustration that Dwarves weren’t as deft in climbing as Lion-O, and the two eventually gave in to shaking their fists at Lion-O and threatening to chop down the tree he was in with Glóin’s axe.

                Lion-O had to admit that what Fíli told him in Bag End was true: it **was** fun to tease, get people’s tempers up, and watch their hilarious reactions.

                Thorin ambled up slowly next to Bilbo, and the Hobbit discreetly decided to not bring up his past conversation earlier as he puffed away.  A minute passed before Bilbo then decided to politely ask a question.

                “Where are Fíli and Kíli’s mother and father?” asked Bilbo.

                Thorin did not answer for a bit, and feeling that he may have overstepped his bounds, Bilbo shrunk back a bit as he winced internally.  But after another minute of thought when the Hobbit was trying to find the correct words for an apology, Thorin then answered.

                “Their father was killed in an Orc raid when Fíli was young and Kíli was just a mere babe.  Their mother, who is also my sister on my Father’s side, is Queen Dís of the Blue Mountains.  She still resides there, and if it weren’t for my nephews collective stubbornness’, they would also be with their mother, safe and away from harm,” the Dwarf King said lowly, and Bilbo could detect the worry and concern in his words.

                “Or perhaps, they wished to come on the quest because they believed that you and Erebor were worth fighting for,” the Hobbit offered.

                Thorin slowly turned his head to gaze stonily at Bilbo, but he didn’t say anything.

                Bilbo decided to change the topic.

                “I am sorry to hear about their father, though.  But does that mean that you and your sister then raised Kíli and Fíli then?”

                “Yes, we have.  I love them as much as my own kin.  There is no dissent on that,” Thorin rumbled a bit, bristling and already ready to defend his nephews’ honor if need be, but once again, Bilbo surprised him.

                “They **are** wonderful,” Bilbo admitted softly, “You should be proud of them.”

                Thorin remained silent, but one dark and fuzzy eyebrow rose in surprise on his brow.

                He wasn’t expecting that.

                Bilbo just looked on, smiling as Kíli and Fíli kept attempting to climb up the steep tree trunk once again in their efforts to retaliate against Lion-O, only for said Cat to giggle and laugh at the sight of Fíli comically sliding off and colliding with Kíli on a heap to the ground.

                Thorin just looked on, wondering if his two nephews were pretending or were both actually dimwitted.  Why couldn’t those two inherit their mother’s brains and intellect?

                “They make me laugh, and they are in so much ease with my son, despite his appearance.  I have never before witnessed such non-judgmental and accepting people before in my life, moreso than many of the Hobbits in the Shire.  You fostered Kíli and Fíli admirably.”

                It was exactly the right thing to say; Thorin then managed a small smile.

                “Thank you, Master Hobbit.”

                There was another minute of silence as both Kíli and Fíli tried using several chairs as a haphazard balancing act to try to reach towards the branch Lion-O was sitting on, only for the rickety column of wood to tumble and send the Princes collapsing on the ground, swearing and relentless in their vengeance.

                Thorin felt a bit exposed as he decided to try to pay Bilbo a compliment in return…

                “…and the Housecat – er, Lion-O.  You have raised him as well since he was found on your doorstep?  All by yourself?”

                “Yes,” Bilbo said with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, “It wasn’t easy, and there were times I felt I was going insane from his temper tantrums and youthful unruliness.  But I would never trade those experiences and memories away for all the riches in Arda.”

                “And you and your son have stayed in your Hobbit village all your lives?”

                “Yes, and I do hope that he makes some new friends in this journey.”

                Bilbo smiled, preparing himself for the return compliment and accolade.

                “Then your son needs to grow out of his naiveté.  Lion-O needs to be prepared that he will always be treated as an outcast of all races and never be truly welcomed anywhere outside the Shire,” Thorin countered.

                All the Dwarves along with Lion-O and a few of the Rivendell Elves were taken by surprise at the sudden outburst by Bilbo Baggins.

                “ **OH YOU – YOU – YOU – CONFOUNDED, UNRESPECTABLE… _DWARF!_** ” Bilbo shouted, sputtering and unable to think of a devastating moniker as he stomped off in a huff, clearly perturbed.

                Thorin was apparently just as insulted and offended as he shouted back in confused affront.

                “Do you always act like this whenever someone tries to offer you advice on how to raise your son?!” barked Thorin.

                By the beard of Mahal, he was only trying to help!

* * *

                Two mammoth statues of rock and stone, craggily deformed, dueling with no-holds-barred fisticuffs amid a torrential sky complete with thunder and lightning…

                Ori the Dwarf Scribe screaming as he was plummeting off a rocky ledge and down to the dark abyss bellow, his screaming echoing throughout the mountains as his brothers, Nori and Dori, wailed helplessly from above…

                A horrific and grotesque beast of a corpulent and naked Goblin with jaundiced eyes, a giant potbelly, and pale, slimy skin dripping with pus and drool as the Goblin King smiled, a row of rotting teeth while wearing a crown of spiked bone and wood…

                “Thunder!  _Thunder!_   ** _Thunder!_** ” the armored figure in the darkness cried out before raising its blade of shining white and red to the skies above, “ ** _THUNDERCATS, HOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!_** ”

                Lion-O shot up from his bed, his heart pounding and now wide awake and alert.  Thankfully, he did not cry out from his nightmare, as Bilbo slept on peacefully and fitfully in the bed next to him.

                Shivering, Lion-O steadied himself to get his erratic breathing down to normal as he brought his hand against his head, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

                That dream was so real, and once again, that mysterious figure with the sword and summoning…something?

                Suddenly, the Cat was beginning to feel a little apprehensive.  Gandalf warned him that the spell he cast when he was a child was beginning to wear off, and now the thought of visions and the ability of premonition was looking less alluring than it once had.

                But these visions…

                They were so real.

                What did they mean?

                Were they true or simply due to an overactive imagination?

                Lion-O tried to lie back down, but he ended up tossing and turning in his bedroll and feeling discomfort in his hot pillow for several minutes.  Sighing, the Cat managed to silently and carefully place on his blue overcoat and dress shirt before exiting his sleeping quarters as quietly as a falling leaf.  Bilbo stirred but did not wake.

                The Thunderian teen walked around the hallways of Rivendell, enjoying the cool breeze of night as the moonlight gave enough illumination for him to enjoy the scenery of Lord Elrond’s home.  The marble floors were smooth and luxuriously pleasant against this feet and claws, the fireflies were dancing in mesmerizing patterns around the bushes, and the brooks and streams were whispering comforting sounds of trickling and babbling water as fish danced around the rocks…

                Lion-O then felt his breath catch in his throat as he turned around a corner into a grand foyer.

                There, in front of him, was an exquisitely carved statue of King Elendil of the Men, the lone hero who fought against Sauron during the Second Age.  Over ten feet tall and shining in black stone, the sculpture was imposing, grand, and so inspirational as Lion-O took in every detail as he ambled closed, like an awed child.  The fabled defender was imposing, formidable, and though his expression was stern, Lion-O felt he depicted exactly as a hero should be: bold, courageous, and valiantly determined to wipe out evil and stand strong against the darkness and foes like the Orcs and Sauron.

                And there, in a stone tray in front draped with a satin sheet, were the broken pieces of the mighty sword Nasril, the same blade that was used to cut Sauron’s fingers and help win in the War of the Last Alliance.  The fragments of enchanted metal shone with halos of silver, bathing the entire room with sheen of white and rainbows.

                For several moments, Lion-O stared at the statue holding the broken pieces of the sword, in revered awe and his imagination going wild with thoughts of fantasy and how prideful, how strong, how admired he would be if he were a champion just like Elendil the Tall or Thorin Oakenshield.

                Standing proud and intrepid amid battle, being a principled inspiration to fellow Cats who were steadfastly loyal to his cause to fight and vanquish evil, to rescue and save innocent lives, to fight for the side of good and ensure that future generations would prosper in peace for years to come…

                “Oh, how I would love to be a hero…” sighed Lion-O with ardor under his breath, “Just like the fairy tales…”

                The voice from behind startled him to say the least.

                “A hero who loves is far more important than loving the illusion of a hero, Young Cat.”

                Startled, the Thunderian yelped as he jumped, fur bristled and his tail jerking agitatedly in surprise as he turned, ready to apologize for being out so late or for trespassing.

                Lion-O’s voice then died in his throat as he then truly looked at what he was seeing right in front of him.

                Brilliant hair that was finer than any polished gold, high cheekbones and blue eyes that seemingly stared through his soul as if Lion-O’s heart and mind were pools of clear water, a crown of entwined silver on his unmarred and pale skin which contrasted against her silken, airy robes of silver and white as they cascaded and hugged her lithe and tall frame and bare feet…

                There was no other way to put it: the Elf maiden was absolutely beautiful.

                “Uh – well met, Mistress Elf,” Lion-O hurriedly and awkwardly stammered as he bowed deeply to the gorgeous Elf damsel, “I am - ”

                “Lion-O Baggins, of Bag End of Hobbiton of the Shire,” the Elf intoned, and her voice was so ethereal and delicate that the Cat almost lapsed on the fact that the Elf knew his name.

                “You….you know who I am?” blinked Lion-O.

                “I know many things, Young One,” smiled the blond female warmly, amused at the teenager’s awkward yet sincere innocence and naiveté.

                “…how?” was all Lion-O could verbalize from his brain.

                The Elf gave a small nod and curtsey before she answered, “I observe and comprehend many touches beyond the eyes and ears of the flesh, Lion-O, for I am Lady Galadriel of the Elves.  Well met and a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Young Baggins.”

                “I see…” was all Lion-O could say, and then he got incredibly tongue-tied, looking at his fidgeting feet as he tried to bring up a subject to talk about, but his mind was frazzled and incredibly blank.  He was always awkward around the opposite sex, and though many of the female Hobbits in the Shire were friendly, none of their parents were very accepting of their daughters dating an animal humanoid.

                “You were dreaming…” Lady Galadriel said kindly.

                “It was a nightmare,” Lion-O tried to dissuade, but to his astonishment, the Elf shook her head.

                “Sight beyond sight rarely settles into mere explanations of nightmares and dreams.  It has implications far deeper than that,” Galadriel explained.  Lion-O’s head perked up, now puzzled and taken aback.

                “How did you know about my sight beyond sight?” Lion-O asked suspiciously.

                Galadriel looked solemn as she intoned, “I have such a variation of the gift as well.”

                “ _You do?_ ” asked Lion-O, eyes now wide and more alert than he was before.  He wasn’t expecting that…

                Galadriel gave a single nod before she turned to view the endless grove of trees growing among Rivendell, the view of the orchards and woods absolutely stunning as the greenery shone under the light of the stars and moon above.

                For several minutes, the Elf did not elaborate and the only noise were the crickets in the grass.

                Lion-O then suddenly felt impatient as he then spoke.

                “If you know many things…” and Lion-O paused, not sure how to ask before he just asked bluntly, “Can you see my father?  Can you see my family, where I came from, where I was born?”

                Galadriel looked, stared really, at the Thunderian, and Lion-O suddenly felt very naked, vulnerable, and exposed.

                Now he was starting to feel less entranced by Galadriel’s beauty and more nervous at the apparent creepiness of her gawking.

                And was it his imagination or was Galadriel gazing at Lion-O with a touch of sympathy and sorrow?

                After a while, Galadriel spoke…and her answer was disappointing to say the least.

                “I will not tell you that, Lion-O.”

                Lion-O frowned, his face sour.

                “So you don’t know…” Lion-O groused.

                “I never said that…” highlighted Galadriel, and Lion-O’s head shot right up instantly.

                “Then you **do** know?!” Lion-O asked, eager, and Galadriel gave an infuriating yet cool tilt of her head.

                “I never said that, either…” Galadriel clarified.

                Lion-O felt his fur bristle and stand up as he fought his temper, remembering that if Bilbo ever got wind of any cheek and rudeness, he would make Lion-O apologize to the lady in front of everyone post-haste after dragging him by the ear.

                With teeth bared, Lion-O then begged, “Is this a joke?!  Which is it, Lady Galadriel?  Can you tell me of my father and my family and my past?!  **_Please._**   I need to know.”

                Silence reigned for many moments, drawing out the awkwardness as Galadriel continued to stare at Lion-O, her face solemn.  Lion-O was about to storm off and angrily stomp back to his bedroll when the Elf then asked him a question.

                “Why do you wish to know where you come from, young one?”

                Lion-O stopped and hesitated before he settled on the best answer.

                “I wish to know why I was abandoned and left in the Shire.  I wish to know where I came from and my history because…I feel lonely.”

                “And is that your _only_ reason?”

                Lion-O pondered that a bit before he then admitted, “I also wish to know of my father and my mother, of my family.”

                “Your father is sleeping with the other Dwarves,” Galadriel pointed out.

                Lion-O looked a little confused at this until he realized that Galadriel was referring to Bilbo, so he shook his head as he explained, “I meant my real father, my Lady.”

                To Lion-O surprise, Lady Galadriel’s face fell, as if she was both saddened and disappointed by that answer.

                And then to his surprise, Lion-O heard Galadriel’s voice echoing softly yet deeply and intensely throughout the courtyard and all around him, soft yet powerfully echoing in his skull.

                _This is why I cannot tell you, Young Lion-O.  That is something you must explore and find for yourself._

                “I…I do not understand…” admitted Lion-O, flummoxed at the seeming riddle.

                Galadriel gave a sad smile as she intoned in the Cat’s mind.

                _You will.  And Bilbo Baggins will be there when you do._

                Blinking, Lion-O turned momentarily to gaze at the gazebo where Bilbo and the Company of Thorin were sleeping, and when he turned back to talk, he found he was all alone in the courtyard.

                Lady Galadriel had vanished.

* * *

                “You can’t be serious!” Willa blurted out.

                “Love, we have no choice…” Lynx-O stated wearily.

                “Your Majesty, please!  _Reconsider!_ ” Jaga pleaded.

                “Oh be quiet, and spare us your platitudes of virtues, Cleric!” Grune snapped heatedly.

                “Tygra!” Cheetara protested, only for her fiancé to grumble heatedly.

                “What other choice is there?  Cheetara, can’t you see? **Our people are dying.** ”

                “I don’t like this!” Wilykat whined.

                “None of us do…” added Pumyra darkly.

                Claudus uttered a low growl, powerful, vibrating, and authoritatively commanding which silenced everyone around the Council.  He raised his golden, clawed gauntlet, the light of the campfires shining and reflecting off the talisman’s surface.

                “Need I remind you that this is a royal order?” King Claudus intoned.

                “And need ** _I_** remind you that some of us are not Cats.  You have **_no_** authority over us.  We are merely your allies.”

                This cold remark came from Viragor, towering over everyone and keeping silent until at this moment.  Undaunted, Claudus stared up at the Forest God and shot back the armor-piercing question.

                “Do you want Mumm-Ra to pay for his crimes against you and your families?” the brawny lion highlighted.

                Viragor’s eyes narrowed, but he did not say anything in return.

                King Claudus took the silence for the victory it was as he stood tall and declared to the audience of Thunderians and other various animals (minus the Berbils), “Are there any other objections?  This may be our only and last chance we ever have of defeating Mumm-Ra and his ilk for good.”

                One of the Fishmen, the calico-colored leader named Koishmael who was previously Captain Tunar’s First Mate, stepped up and conceded with a nod of his head, “We are in a new world.  Those who adapt survive, and those who do not, die.  The old ways will not help us now.  There is **_no_** opposition on this decision.  From any of us.”

                King Claudus nodded, pleased at the main consensus.  Even Jaga (though pained) remained silent.  The King of the Thundercats then turned to the muscular and strapping Panthro.

                “Panthro, here is your mission…” Claudus instructed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for taking so long to update this story! 2015 and 2016 were quite horrible to me and I couldn't work on this story until I was finished with _Draw Me Like A Dwarrowdam, Ori_!
> 
> I thank all my readers and subscribers who stayed patient with me, and hopefully, I can keep working on this story at a much quicker pace. Much gratitude for enjoying and reading this crossover!


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